Batman & Robin: Noel
by MissScorp
Summary: It is Christmas in Gotham. Families are gathering together to share in the love and joy of the season. But the holiday season doesn't stop the criminals, or the members of Gotham's crime fighting family from fighting. T for language and violence and some suggestive situations. Appearances by all members of the Batfamily.
1. December 25th

**A/N:** Hello m'dears and welcome! For references sake, this story follows events in my multi-chapter story called **Love & Bullets**.

Just a note, this story is starting with part one of the ending for a reason. Every chapter following this one will progress normally, starting with December 1st next!

* * *

_Twas the night before Christmas,  
And all was silent in the house,  
Only one little birdie was a stirring,  
Because he was in one helluva grouse.  
He paced back and forth,  
his temper pushed past the red,  
For this particular Robin had indeed  
reached the very end of patience's thread._

* * *

_December 25__th__.  
_  
It was Christmas in Gotham City.

It was just after midnight, officially Christmas morning and Gotham was the very picture of a winter wonderland. The cobblestone streets were covered in a thin blanket of snow, the windows of the homes and businesses frosted over with silvery webs of ice. Colorful lights twinkled from rooftops, shimmered inside store windows and were wrapped around light poles. The spruce and pine trees in the Thomas and Martha Wayne Memorial Park were all draped in holiday finery, each of them having been decorated by one of the schools that were in the city's boroughs. In old Gotham as well as the Bristol District, children were sleeping snug in their beds, dreaming of toys being brought to them by a jolly man in a red velvet suit who was driving a sleigh led by eight tiny reindeer.

High atop this silent world, a petite figure stood, jade eyes winking out from the confines of the plain black half-mask that they wore. A black bodysuit hugged her lithe frame and kept her from freezing to death in the frigid temperatures. Yesterday had been a remarkable day thought Raya as she perched atop a gargoyle that was on the building next to the old GCPD building in the Burnley district. This Christmas Eve would definitely be one that she would remember for the rest of her life. But then, she thought as she canted her head to the side and studied the silent street below, the night before Christmas had always held a special place in her heart. That very first Christmas Eve Ball she'd attended at Wayne Manor fourteen years ago was not only the one where she'd fallen in love with Dick Grayson, but where she'd shared her very first father-daughter dance with the enigmatic and dashingly handsome Bruce Wayne.

_That Christmas Eve is one of maybe a handful of memories I have which have nothing to do with either my father, one of Gotham's super criminals, or crime fighting in general_. Her teeth flashed white in the darkness. How Bruce Wayne could manage to turn even the most mundane topic in the whole wide world into something even remotely related to crime fighting was something all of the members of the Batfamily tended to tease the Wayne patriarch over. But this Christmas Eve would, from this day onwards, reflect a much different type of anniversary for her and Dick. They really should have known their baby birdie was up to something. Damian had been far too compliant about remaining at home in order for his broken arm to mend. He'd even _willingly_ allowed the mantle of Robin to pass back to Tim while he was convalescing. And he'd been a whole lot more secretive than usual she realized with a shake of her head. But as she crouched atop that gargoyle and waited for Dick's signal to attack, Raya found herself wondering one thing:

Just when exactly was it that their baby birdie had decided he was going to throw them a nice and simple and absolutely _perfect_ wedding on Christmas Eve?

* * *

**S/N:** This story is in response to a challenge posted over in the Revenge Lounge, Too forum (seriously, come check us out! We're an awesome bunch and have a lot of awesome things going on!). The challenge is this:

Just like last year's advent challenge presented by Aiko, it will be the 25 days of Christmas! The goal is to write 25 chapters total for any fandom and/or pairing that strikes your fancy. The first 24 chapters **must be** at least 100 words, preferably no more than 2K. We're not going to cap a chapter off, but as stated preferably no more than 2K per chapter. (Not that we want to kill any plot bunnies mind you) On the 25th day the word count **must** be longer than any previous chapter. (Up to 5K)

Challenge accepted!


	2. December 1st

**A/N:** Hello again m'dears! I hope the week is being good to you :)

If you like this story and want to keep reading, make life easier by putting this story in your favorite/follow list. And reviews are dearly cherished :)

* * *

_His father was nestled all warm in his bed,  
With visions of the Joker laughing in his head.  
Raya and Dick had just come home from a midnight scrap,  
And were just settling themselves in for a short little nap._

* * *

_December 1__st__._

"Damian won't stay pissed with you forever, Rae," Dick Grayson said while crouching on the ledge of a building. "He'll get over this snit of his soon." He shot a look over at the dark haired woman perched beside him and said with a wry grin twisting his lips, "you can trust me on that."

"Oh, I know he won't stay ticked with me forever," she replied with a slight sigh. "And I'm perfectly fine with him being upset with me. Let him be angry at me, in fact. I am not obligated to care at this moment." She angled her head to look at him; grimaced. "It's just this silent act of his that I do not like over much. I prefer our baby bird when he's being a mouthy little wise-ass."

"Well, yanno that he totally got this silent bit from Bruce, right?" He gave her a lopsided grin. "Nobody can turn silent warfare into an art form quite like Bruce Wayne."

"Bruce uses silence when he's either angrier than a jungle cat, or trying to keep us from knowing what he really is thinking," she retorted with a snort. "Damian's silent treatments are a shining example of psychological warfare at its finest."

"He was worse during our short separation in February if ya recall."

"I know." That their little birdie had been quite an unhappy one during the two weeks it took for her and Dick to work through a couple of hiccups before they'd gotten engaged was an understatement. "And I suspect that his silent treatment this time is as much about us not setting a date for getting married as much as it his way of getting even with me for having grounded him."

"Well," Dick said dryly. "If Damian had had his way we'd have gotten married on Valentine's Day." He cast a sidelong glance at her. "But while _I_ was not opposing a short engagement..."

"Clearly..." Raya interjected with a soft snort.

"...I knew _you_ were not wanting to get engaged and married all within a twenty-four hour period." He finished with a roll of his eyes. "As to his being pissed off at you for grounding him? Hell, Rae, _I'm_ amazed you actually did ground him. Can imagine _he's_ just as dumbfounded about it."

Raya made a face at him before turning to stare again at the snowy streets below. "It's not like I _enjoyed_ grounding him, buzzard breath."

No, he could see that she had not taken any enjoyment out of having to punish their little birdie. That Raya tended to have a big soft spot when it came to Damian Wayne was not their family's most well-kept secret. But the current acting Robin had been way out of line and in need of the only adult in charge at the time to put the willful young superhero back in his place. "Rae," he said as he slid his fingers through her dark curls to the back of her neck. "Dami knew that when he left the Manor without your permission that he was breaking the rules. He knew that his choice was going to come with a consequence."

"I know..." was said on a heavy sigh. "Bruce already said I was well within my rights to punish him for his decision to disobey. But I was never upset about him leaving the Manor without permission so much as I was about the fact that he got into trouble and chose to _lie_ to me about it rather than fess up and ask me for help."

"This is why a month without video games and being grounded to the cave is a light sentence compared to what Bruce woulda handed down."

"I know it is, Dick." Her breath came out as a puff of white steam. "I just prefer when Damian is yelling at me." She cast a sidelong glance at him; smiled. "I can combat him screaming at me by yelling right back at him."

"Oh," he said with a waggle of his dark brows. "I'm well aware you are a screamer, Rae."

Raya felt heat suffuse her cheeks at his bawdry comment. _So typical_, she thought while heaving a long drawn out sigh. She was about to rebuke him for the comment when she spotted a black van pull up outside the building they'd been watching for the last half hour. "Looks like Happy and the rest of the dwarves have finally arrived," she said to him.

"How ya wanna do this?" he asked her.

"Divide and conquer," she said, her lips curling slowly. "Or just drop in and say hello?"

"Baby," he said playfully. "We both know you like the direct approach best."

She grinned at him. "So drop in and say hello it is then."

"Just remember that I want to interrogate the one they are calling Doc." He reminded her. "He's the one who my informant says has information about what it is that Zucco is planning to do next."

"Don't knock out Doc." Her tone was one of mock seriousness. But Dick saw those jewel toned eyes gleamed with mischief. "Okay, got it. Happy, Dopey, Sleepy and Grumpy are still okay for beating the crap out of though?"

"Right." Dick perched on the balls of his feet and gave her a grin that reminded Raya of the Cheshire cat in _Alice in Wonderland_. "Oh, by the way," he said in a sing-song. "I decided that the first one down gets a massage from the loser later."

He back somersaulted off the building before she could reply. Raya could only watch as he plunged towards the ground in a stomach curling free fall. Then she merely sighed and shook her head.

"Conniving man," she muttered a second before dropping off the building after him.


	3. December 2nd

**A/N:** Hello again m'dears! Hope that the week is being fabulous to you!

If you like this story and want to keep reading, make life easier by putting this story in your favorite/follow list. And reviews are dearly cherished :)

* * *

_When at the end of the hall there arose such a clatter,  
They sprang from their bed to go see what was the matter.  
Away to Damian's room they flew in a flash,  
Tore open the door, where it hit the wall with a resounding crash!  
_

* * *

_December 2nd.  
_  
Damian swam dizzily towards consciousness, and straight into the waiting arms of pain. He saw the world flying by him from beyond a thick pane of glass, and thought he heard the familiar purr and hum of a high-powered five-cylinder engine. _Is this what happened after you die_? He wondered. _You get in a car and drive to wherever-whatever the afterlife happens to be_? But then his thoughts took an interesting turn: if he was _dead_, why the hell did every part of his body hurt so damn much? Wasn't it all supposed to stop hurting once you were dead? _Man, death is a rip_, the teen superhero thought with a grimace.

He tried to move, to sit or stand, but found he was being held in place by satin-smooth tentacles that tightened about him the more he shifted around. Or maybe, he realized as another sizzle of white hot agony shot through his chest and down his arm, it was just his body simply had decided it hurt far too much to move and was refusing to obey his brains commands to do so. He must have fidgeted or made some type of sound because suddenly a large hand was being gently laid upon his chest and a voice whiskey rough was whispering to him that they would be at the cave "in a few minutes."

The Boy Wonder managed to twist his head around upon the seat—he'd finally become fully conscious of the fact he was racing through the night in a car towards home, and stared at a masked countenance that could have been chiseled from granite. His only thought was: _Drake_. His stomach curled with disdain and dread. _Of anybody who could have come to my aide, why did it have to be you_? he silently asked the older man. But then Damian was snatched back into the realm of unconsciousness by silvery fingers and no longer cared about how it was his least favorite brother that was his rescuer.

* * *

Timothy Drake felt his youngest brother stirring, and reached over to set a hand upon his chest in hopes that it would at least comfort and reassure the wounded boy. "Just hold on Damian," he told him quietly. "We'll be at the cave in a few minutes."

But when he angled his head to look over at the teen, he saw those blue eyes were already closing again. Tim felt a shiver of alarm creep, cold and clammy, over his skin. Damian was nearly as white as the snow that had fallen just a few hours ago and the bruises already creeping black over his skin stood out in even sharper contrast because of it. Tim had no way of knowing about how injured the boy was—his cursory examination at the courthouse told him only that one arm was definitely broken, and that he had cuts and contusions and possible lacerations as well. Damian had sustained a number of body shots. And Tim knew that there was a significant possibility he'd sustained internal injuries because of them. He'd felt as fragile as glass when he'd carried him out of the Solomon Wayne courthouse, and looked like a broken doll twisted as he was in the seat next to him.

Exactly what Damian had been doing in the courthouse Tim did not know. The little twerp was _supposed_ to be on day three of the thirty-day grounding he'd received from Raya. That he'd clearly disregarded the rules (again), and snuck out of the Manor (again) was just further evidence in Tim's mind about what a snot-nosed brat his little brother could be. That his relationship with the current acting Robin was a frequently combative, snarktastic and optimistically draining experience was something he was accustomed too. Most often his baby brother simply pissed him off to no end. Secretively, however, he'd come to care greatly for this pugnacious, arrogant and volatile brother he'd been given. But if anybody (besides Raya) asked him if he cared about the creep, he'd deny it. And punch them in the nose if they called him a liar.

The elder superhero knew he would live, for the rest of his life he would live with the image of his youngest brother lying in the middle of that demolished courtroom, his body bloody and bruised and twisted, a pool of blood pooling beneath him. If he had been even a few seconds later, Damian could have been hurt even worse than he was. Or worse, he realized, scowling. _Twerp coulda been killed tonight_, he thought darkly. _He coulda been killed all because he couldn't concede he was deserving of his suspension as Robin_. In Timothy Drake's opinion, this was by far the most reckless, dumbest and selfish thing Damian Wayne had ever done.

Fear and worry as much as annoyance gnawed at the former Robin as he raced down the dark and barren service road that led to the Batcave. The idea of Damian dying from the injuries he'd sustained that night stabbed at his very heart and soul. Even as much as his younger brother tended to bug the ever loving shit out of him, he still cared about him and would do everything he had too in order to protect him from harm. He plunged into the tunnel hidden behind the illusion of a solid rock wall and traversed the winding pathway.

A scant thirty seconds later he was pulling the Redbird onto a steel ramp that lifted the cherry red automobile onto a ramp that was protected by a gigantic Tyrannosaurus Rex. Struggling to push the conflicting emotions hammering at him back into their proper place, Tim shut the engine off and emerged from the car into the subdued interior lighting Bruce installed years ago, into the interior of the underground fortress he'd grown to manhood in, to where his father and two other figures stood waiting on the main platform. His only thought as he lifted his head and stared into their worried gazes was, _I'm so sorry_.

* * *

As soon as Tim radioed that he was bringing an injured Master Damian to the Batcave, Alfred had readied a medical kit and stood in the medical bay waiting. Master Tim barely pulled the Redbird to a stop before Master Bruce was reaching in and carefully lifting his unconscious son into his arms.

"How did this happen?" he demanded of his older son.

Tim shook his head. "I don't know, Bruce."

"Where did you find him?"

"The Solomon Wayne courthouse."

"Two-Face," Bruce gritted as he laid Damian on the bed, and stood back as Alfred began a cursory examination of his injuries. "It had to be Two-Face and his gang who did this."

"Anything broken, Alfred?" Raya asked as she stepped forward to help.

The butler's fingers probed. "I'm afraid so, Miss Raya," -more probing- "his right wrist and three of his fingers are most definitely broken. Ribs are bruised but I do not believe any are cracked." He kept his voice brisk. "Shoulder, right knee-bruised. Maybe twisted or strained the ligaments. But only his wrist and fingers appear broken."

"I'm concerned about him having a concussion at this point," Bruce said.

"Indeed, sir." Alfred looked grave. "But we will not know that until Master Damian awakens."

"He's gonna be in a great deal of pain once he wakes up," Tim said softly.

"He's also going to be in one seriously foul-mood." Dick added with a sigh. "Damian's not happy about being grounded for breaking the rules. He's going to be even less so when he figures out that he's doubly grounded on account of his broken wrist."

"I know he's not going to be happy." Tim heaved a sigh and raked his fingers through his hair. "But he made his choice and has to pay the consequences like any of the rest of us."

"I know that, Tim."

Damian whimpered as Bruce removed his boots and shin guards. "Go ahead and give him a painkiller, Alfred."

"No." Raya reached down, stroked his fingers over her little birdie's bruised cheek. "He won't want you to give him the painkiller, and would only refuse it if he were awake."

"Raya," Bruce rumbled, a low warning. "Do not interfere."

"I'm not interfering, Bruce," came her soft, but firm reply. "I'm speaking up for Damian and telling you what it is that _he_ would want."

"And how would you know what it is that my son wants?" the billionaire demanded in a hard voice. "Or what he needs? _You're_ not his mother."

Raya knew it was fear driving Bruce to speak rashly. Fear and a healthy dose of parental aggression that he couldn't unleash because no thug was in his path that he could pound into the ground. That did not mean, however, that she was going to simply allow him to vent his mitchiness at her without her giving a dose of it back. Damian was her baby birdie too and she was just as worried about him as his father was. She opened her mouth to say just that, but she wasn't quick enough.

"She's the closest thing he's got to a mother," Dick said quietly. "Considering his real mother is a cold-hearted bitch who doesn't give a damn about his welfare, or about the fact he exists unless it fits into some self-serving plan of hers to destroy you and Gotham."

Bruce's expression darkened. "That doesn't give..."

"How about he's the one who has given her the right?" Tim added. He swung his arms out to encompass the entire cave. "Take a good long look around you, Bruce. This cave is a technological bachelor pad. And the Manor only has five, sometimes six males that live here. Raya is the only _girl_. She's wife, girlfriend, mom, sister, daughter, niece and cousin. And the kid rebelled against his mom, sister and partner tonight because _she_ was the one who grounded him to the cave."

"Well gee, Tim," Raya said dryly. "Isn't that just the son doing exactly what his _father_ would have done?"

Bruce shot a dirty look at her. But before he could issue a stinging retort about the pot calling itself black, he paused. Because he realized that the way in which she'd worded her statement carried a multiplicity of interpretations. And encompassed more than just one of the males in her life. _Why that little imp_, he thought with a slight bubble of amusement. Dick too had caught onto her silent jab and was shaking his head, a slight grin upon his face.

"Did ya have ta word your little quip ta include _all_ of us, Rae?" he asked.

"I figured it best if I covered all my rebellious males at one time."

"See if you get a kiss beneath the mistletoe later," he groused.

Raya merely flipped her hair over her shoulder. "Let's see who can outlast kissing who, bird boy," she said with a saucy grin.

Tim snorted. "He won't even manage to make it outta the cave."

Whatever else was going to be said was interrupted by another small whimper from the boy lying upon the hospital bed. Raya moved to the bed and rest a hand against Damian's cheek, murmuring soft and nonsensical words to him.

"Perhaps you could try singing his favorite song to him," Alfred suggested softly. "That always manages to quiet Master Damian when he is fractious."

It wasn't like the butler needed to ask her twice.

* * *

**S/N:** I'm highly big on continuity so the song that Alfred is referencing is from an earlier story I wrote called **Of Batman, Nightwing, and Robin**.


	4. December 3rd

**A/N:** Hello again m'dears! Hope that the week is being fabulous to you!

If you like this story and want to keep reading, make life easier by putting this story in your favorite/follow list. And reviews are dearly cherished :)

* * *

_The moon on the floor showed the room was all in a tatter  
To which Raya quickly asked him,  
"What the hell is the matter?"  
The look that he gave her made her shiver  
And caused her heart to stumble, one endless quiver._

* * *

_December 3rd.  
_  
"Is there some reason for why I had ta be here, Kit?" Jason Todd complained while following the petite girl up the stairs. "It ain't like my opinion really matters to the old man."

"And if there was time," Raya huffed. "I'd so kick the shit outta you just for saying that."

Jason's lips quirked and he couldn't resist teasing her. "Yanno, ya really shouldna be flirtin' with me now that you're engaged ta Dickie bird."

Raya made a _ffff_ sound but did not otherwise make one of her usual quick witted replies. Jason arched an eyebrow at that. He'd thought they'd worked things back around to where they were at least friends. Could he have been mistaken? he wondered. Were they not friends? Or was it that she was still not sure about where things stood between them? Of the two possibilities, the later seemed most likely. It was, after all, completely like the damn woman to hold a few cards close to her chest.

"Still not sure where things stand with us, Kit?" he asked her bluntly.

He saw her hazard a look over her shoulder. It was clear that she was trying to read his face and gauge his thoughts, but was finding the language to be a foreign one that she simply couldn't seem to understand. Finally she said, "I haven't honestly known where things stood with us since before we began dating."

His eyebrows shot up at that. "Were things always that bad between us?"

She turned to face him, at eye level with him thanks to being on the stair above him. "No," she said honestly. "Things were really good before we began dating."

"And went bad after we started dating?"

"No, things were great when we first began dating. It was when Crane came into the picture that everything went to shit," she said on a long sigh. "And a lot of that is because of me, I know."

"It wasn't Crane that turned everything to shit," he said. "It was also 'cause things got complicated. And we both know that neither of us is any good at handling _complicated_."

She nodded her head in silent agreement. The fact that they were both damaged had been what initially drew them together. And Jason had a point. Neither one of them was any good at handling complicated interpersonal relationships.

"You know the irony here is that I am currently involved in a complicated relationship, right?" Her lips curved wryly. "And I am getting ready to enter into the most complicated relationship of them all when we marry."

"Have you two set an actual date for the wedding yet?"

She shook her head. "No, and it's irritating the hell outta Damian." She harrumphed and turned to make her way up to the upstairs landing. "If he'd had his way Dick and I woulda been married at Bruce's birthday bash."

"How'd ya manage ta prevent him from gettin' one of the judges ta marry ya two on the spot?" Raya shot him a pointed look. Jason let out a chuckle. "Oh, please, tell me he didn't."

"Oh, he very much did," she said dryly. "And not only had the audacity to _force_ us to stand in front of Judge Harkley, but threatened to have Bruce contribute a significant donation to Harkley's opponent in the upcoming elections if he _didn't_ marry us." By that point Jason was doubled over laughing. Raya reached over the bannister to _thwack_ him on the back of the head. "It is so not funny, Jas!"

"Hell it's not!" Jason chortled while wiping tears from his tears. "That kid's got balls I swear!"

"Yea, well," she said, her lips twitching upwards into a smile. "He didn't much like that Bruce not only halted the ceremony, but sent him up to his room to think about how wrong he was for interfering in our lives."

Jason had little doubt that his youngest brother had used his time out to not only think over what he'd done wrong, but figure out how to change the outcome for the next time he tried such a devious little plan. That there was going to be a next time was abundantly clear to him. He knew the kid almost as well as he knew the woman standing with her arms folded atop the oak railing. He shot her a smirk.

"He's gonna try it again if'n ya don't name a date, Kit."

Her eyes narrowed to slits. "He wouldn't dare."

Jason had a feeling that she was going to regret those words.

* * *

"The way that things are going right now," Dick said on a long, drawn out sigh. "The next few weeks are going to get even more insane around here than usual."

"And exactly what's new about that, Dickie boy?" Jason snarked. "Things are always crazy around here thanks ta the freaks we tend ta attract."

"That's true," Raya said while perching upon the edge of Dick's chair and draping her arm over his shoulders. "But once this super prison officially opens it's going to get much, much worse."

"How much worse can things get, Kit?" Jason slouched in his seat with his arms folded across his chest and fixed her with an intense stare. "Hell is hell no matter where it is."

"But in our hell we have cages and walls in which we can keep the bad guys contained. There's no such separation of the inmates in Arkham City. They are on the loose and only God knows where."

"And doing only God knows what," Dick said.

Bruce glanced over at her. "Still no official word on what role that Jim and the GCPD will be playing in Arkham City?"

Raya made a face. "The official word is that the GCPD is to stand down and allow Strange's TYGER forces to handle all aspects of Arkham security."

"So the GCPD has been officially frozen out?" This came from Tim who was perched on the edge of Bruce's desk.

She nodded. "Yup."

Bruce sat back in his chair and steepled his long fingers in front of him. "Is Strange still courting you as a potential member of his team?" he queried in a thoughtful monotone.

"Could we refrain from using the word _courting_ here, please?" Dick asked on a groan. "I still haven't managed to completely break Crane of his demented notion that he is _courting_ my woman."

"Your _woman_? Seriously, buzzard brain?" Raya growled.

"What?" he asked in all innocence. "You are my woman."

She angled her head to fix him with a baleful glare. "How would ya feel if'n I went around calling ya my _man_?"

"I am your man." Dick gave her a cheeky grin. "But as far as nicknames go, I prefer when ya call me..."

Raya quickly slapped her hand over his mouth. "Little ears are present you jerk."

"And the owner of those little ears says that if you'd two would have gotten _married_ at Father's birthday bash..." Damian muttered darkly from the overstuffed armchair he was curled up in. "That you'd be calling each other _husband_ and _wife_."

"Dami..." Dick and Raya whined in unison. Damian just responded with a dark scowl and hunched his body deeper into the chairs softness.

"What?" he groused.

"We'll set a date to get married just as soon as this business with Arkham City is over and done with." Dick tried to assure him.

"Been saying that since August, Grayson."

The adults in the room shared a collective sigh. That their youngest member was out of sorts at the moment was obvious to all of them. As was the fact that he was looking for a target in which to expend some of his moodiness upon.

"Right now we need to focus upon the situation at hand," Bruce said. "Arkham City is proving to be the gigantic mistake we knew it was going to be. The city is in utter chaos and innocent people who shouldn't be locked in there, have been. They need to be our priority."

"And we are one Robin down at this moment because of Damian's injuries."

"Which means we are going to be one _Fenix_ down as well," Tim said lightly. He cut a look at Raya; grinned. "It was a given you'd opt to stay home and take care of him, Raya."

"Which presents us with a problem," she said. "We're two fighters down."

"That still leaves the original Dynamic Duo ta handle things, Kit," Jason droned in a lazy drawl. "And Red over there."

"And you," she retorted with a scowl in his direction. "Whom I have already told Bruce that I want as my replacement."

Jason shot her a dark look. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me."

"No fuc..." he paused and shot a look in Damian's direction. "Hell no," he gritted. "I never agreed ta stay and partner up with anybody."

"Didn't ask you ta partner up with anybody," Raya said in a silky smooth voice. "I said you will be _my_ replacement."

"And whose replacing the kid?" he demanded in a heated tone.

"I am," Tim said quietly. "I was Robin before the mantle was passed to Damian so it is only right that I take back the mantle while he's convalescing."

Damian snorted and muttered, "I'm still a better Robin at half my best than you are at your best, Drake."

His comment earned him a rumble of warning from his father. Jason shot a glare first at Dick, who merely shrugged his shoulders, and then shifted his head to stare at Bruce. "And you agreed to this?"

"I was told that this was the system put into place during my absence." Bruce spoke calmly. But there was a veiled note underneath that calm that hinted at a father's dark and desperate need to have some type of connection with his son. Raya bit back a sigh and said nothing, knowing he'd only deny it if she called him on it in front of his boys. But call him on it she definitely was once they were alone. "And considering it was an effective system back then, I do not see why it cannot be an effective one now."

Dick saw a muscle twitch in Jason's cheek and knew it was the only sign of how tight a reign he was keeping over his emotions. That his brother wanted to belong and to be a more included family member was as clear as the nose upon his face. But Jason Todd was almost as stubborn as their shared parent.

"We need your help, Jas," he said quietly.

"_Please_."

Jason's shoulders slumped at that soft, sweet entreaty. "Goddamn it," he said in a harsh whisper. "Ya just don't fight fair, Kit."

"I'm a practical woman who has five extremely independent and headstrong males to contend with," came her prim reply. "I have learned to use every weapon in my arsenal in order to gain your compliance."


	5. December 4th

**A/N:** Hello again m'dears! Hope that the week is being fabulous to you!

* * *

_With a ferocious scowl, and a burning gleam in his eye  
Dick knew in a moment that Damian  
Was not about to tell them a lie.  
Oh no, their little birdie had  
indeed been one busy little bee,  
and revealed all when he shouted  
"You two are getting married on Christmas Eve!"_

* * *

_December 4th.  
_  
"What're you doing?"

Raya felt her stomach curl into slippery little knots at the sleep-rough sound of Dick's voice.

"What's it look like I'm doing?" she asked him playfully. "I'm hanging ornaments on our Christmas tree."

And to substantiate that claim she hung a small egg shaped snow globe with a carousel horse in it-a present that he'd given her back when they were sixteen-from one of the bristly branches.

"Ya coulda come and woke me," he grumbled. "I'd have helped ya with decorating the tree."

"I know you would have." She picked up a candy apple red ornament shaped like an icicle. "But you were out late last night with Bruce. And anyway," she glanced at her watch, saw that it read: _12:35_. His usual wake up time she thought with a smile. "There's still plenty left for ya ta help me decorate and I wanted ya well rested."

She turned towards the doorway then; saw that he was leaning one shoulder against the doorjamb. He didn't look so serious in her mind, not when his dark hair was still tousled, his deep blue eyes still sleepy and his face shadowed by a night's growth of stubble. What he looked was… _adorable_. She especially liked him best after he'd first awoken, when his eyes and voice were still soft and his body still warm from slumber. Dick tended to be more affectionate after he woke up, more prone to cuddling and being talked into doing things that he'd normally object to when he was fully awake.

But while he looked all cute and fluffy at that moment, she also knew Richard Grayson could become as grumpy as a bear if he didn't get his first cup of Joe within a few minutes of waking. She walked over and poured coffee into a mug from the carafe she'd had waiting for when he woke up. She then turned to the door and slowly waved the mug back and forth.

"Coffee?" she intentionally drug out the final _e_ for a full thirty seconds, her lips curved into a mischievous smile. Those blue eyes shifted, landed upon the wafting mug of sweet, heavenly salvation she was holding in her hands. He pushed away from the doorjamb and padded towards her on bare feet.

"Raya," he said as he took the mug, drank to clear the fog from his mind and voice. "Have I told you that I love you today?"

"Dick." Her lips curved. "You say that to anybody who brings you your first cup of morning coffee."

"Not so."

"Is so."

He gave her a quick, boyish grin. "Well, I love you best of all, okay?"

"Ya better, bird boy." She reached up to link her arms around his neck. "You'd find yourself sleeping alone right quick if'n ya didn't love me the best of all your coffee enablers."

She saw his gaze drop to her mouth; linger before moving back to hers. "Oh, there's no doubt whatsoever that I'm head over heels in love with you minx..."

Her smile was his smile, his breath mixed with her breath, and his heart beat against hers. They held there, one long and anticipatory moment, then their lips met. Clung. But desire became a ripple of amusement when they heard feet stomping up the stairs and a soft voice grumbling.

"I do think he's still a wee bit pissed off at us for not selecting a date in which to finally get married," Raya said lightly.

Dick's lips twisted into a wry grin. "I can't help it if you keep shooting down every date that I've suggested."

Raya heaved a sigh. "Well I can't help that I didn't like any of the dates that you suggested."

"What was wrong with Halloween?" he asked with a raised brow. "We coulda done a themed wedding."

"Except that Crane tried to inject you with his tainted version of _Inceptive_ last Halloween," she said matter-of-factly. "And I haven't quite gotten over that thank you very much."

He let that one slide. He hadn't quite gotten over that either. "Okay, how about Valentine's Day then?"

She made a face. "That's too close to Bruce's birthday."

Dick heaved an exaggerated sigh as he slid his arms her waist. "How about you give me a few dates then?" he suggested with a teasing note of impatience in his voice. Raya's lips trembled but she said;

"December 24th."

His brow arched. "Christmas Eve?" When she nodded, he asked; "why do you want to get married on Christmas Eve?"

"Because," she said, leaning up to kiss his lips. "I fell in love with you on Christmas Eve."

"You realize that Christmas Eve is in sixteen days, right?" he intoned in a soft drawl.

"Yes..." she said slowly.

"And you realize that there's no way in hell that your uncle, Bruce or _Alfred_ are going to allow us to have that nice and small and simple wedding ceremony that _we_ want, right?"

"I know." She heaved a sigh. "And I've worked around to the fact that our wedding is going to be the extravaganza that Gotham high society expects."

"But?" his lips curled with the question. "I can smell the _but_ here, Rae."

She harrumphed. "_But_ it does not mean I don't still dream of us getting married out there in that old gazebo in the back garden with only the most important members of our friends and family there to watch."

Getting married in that old gazebo in the back garden on Christmas Eve was the nice, simple and small ceremony they both wanted. Symbolic was something as much a part of her as it was him. He reached up to take hold of her hands, thumb tracing over the ring he'd given her when he'd proposed to her. She'd refused to let him replace his mother's engagement ring with one strictly her own because of the symbolism attached to the one he'd given her.

"I know getting married in the back gardens on Christmas Eve is what you want," he said softly. "I want it too."

"But?" it was her lips that curled this time. "I smell the _but_ here, Dick."

He harrumphed. "_But_ the only way it's going to happen is if someone decides to throw us that nice and simple and small ceremony."

"Oh, I know that, Dick." She leaned up to brush a kiss to his whisker rough cheek. "And so long as I get to marry you, I don't care about what kinda ceremony we have. Or in how many people are there." She linked their fingers. "All that matters is that I'll be marrying my best friend."

Dick placed a kiss to her forehead. "I feel the same way, Rae."

Neither of them was aware that a particular member of their family had been standing in the tiny alcove that was next to the entrance into the family room, listening as they discussed ideal wedding dates and perfect ceremonies in the back garden of the Manor. They did not see the little smirk that crossed his youthful face. Nor did they know that there was a gleam in his oceanic eyes. No, they had no knowledge about how they'd just given Damian Wayne the idea for the most perfect Christmas present ever: a nice and simple and small wedding ceremony on Christmas Eve.


	6. December 5th

**A/N:** Hello m'dears! Hope that the week is being fabulous to you!

Just a note: this story is taking events ongoing in my currently open WIP, **Batman & Robin: Inceptive**. The compound being called _Inceptive_ is my own creation and is not part of canon.

* * *

_Said the Nightwing to his golden Fe  
Do you see what I see  
Way up in the sky golden Fe  
Do you see what I see  
A sign, a sign  
Shining in the night  
Bringing hope that all wrongs will be made right  
Bringing hope that all wrongs will be made right  
_

* * *

_December 5th  
_  
James Gordon parked his unmarked squad car near a row of EMS vehicles, the coroner's van and squad cars from at least three of the different police boroughs. Ignoring the shouts of gawkers and the frantic questions shouted at him by the voracious reporters lining the snow covered streets; he entered the alley behind City Hall. Beneath the bright illumination of the spotlights from the hovering police and news helicopters, the small alley was almost brighter than the sun at its zenith. The brightness did not bother him; it was almost a comfort after spending the evening on a stakeout in one of the heaviest and darkest crime areas of the city.

But he knew that the dark figure lurking at the fringe of the scene preferred the stillness and mystery of shadows over the effervescence of the limelight. Because he did, Gordon ordered the helicopters, which included the blasted news choppers included, to pull back. The alley immediately became darker than the inside of a patrolman's cap. That didn't prevent Gordon from seeing Batman weave his way through the crowd to join him at the corner of the building. Both men watched the forensics team at work, each trying to remember exactly what number that this body marked. There had been so many bodies in the course of their storied careers and friendship that it was easy to lose count. It was Gordon that finally spoke.

"This is the third body that we've found dumped in an alley like this." He didn't so much as glance into the swirl of darkness that Batman inhabited. For one crazy moment he found himself wondering just which Batman it was that he spoke to tonight: the grim and dark Batman that he knew the best, or the lighter and seemingly more optimistic Batman that he'd first met three years before. Strangely, he found himself hoping it was the latter. After the stress of the last few months he could use some optimism and hope.

"It's what we were afraid of. The Scarecrow has started his experiments again. The last two victims all tested positive for the basic markers of the hallucinogenic compound that Crane uses in that damn gas of his." Gordon pushed his glasses up his nose, rubbed the back of his neck. "I'm going to assume that that is exactly what we will find in this kid's tox screen as well."

"Likely." Was the grim reply. "I will run the samples I gathered before calling you and compare them to the neural samples Raya took from the other Gotham and Arkham City victims'. But." Gordon had come to hate the word _but_. It never boded well in his experience. Least of all when any of Gotham's super criminals were the cause of it. "Given how all of the Arkham and Gotham City victims' have showed the same type of central nervous system shutdown Raya found in victims' from Blüdhaven, Metropolis and Starling City, I am going to assume that our latest victim will show the same."

"What I don't understand is the removal of the victims' faces."

Like Gordon, Batman knew that all of the Gotham and Arkham City victims' had had their faces removed pre-mortem. And that each procedure had been performed with a keen level of surgical precision that suggested the perpetrator had an extensive background in the surgical field. But just who the skilled surgeon was had remained a mystery. And that fact bothered Gordon almost as much as he knew that it did the large figure standing beside him.

"He could be removing the victims' faces for any number of reasons," Batman rumbled thoughtfully. "But I suspect that it's about letting us know that he and Crane are working together."

Heaven help them if all the super villains ever decided to work together as effectively as Crane and this man were, Gordon thought with a sigh. He glanced over, saw that Batman was standing in his shadow. "About how long after the Arkham incident did the first identity murder occur?"

"Two months according to the timeline Raya has put together."

"And how many murders does she figure there have been at this point?"

"Fifteen if we add tonight's murder to the timeline."

Gordon breathed out a soft curse. _Fifteen_. He hadn't believed anybody but the Joker to be capable of racking up that kind of a body count. "What's the endgame?" he asked. "How are the two even selecting their victims?"

"Are you certain you want to know the answer to that, Jim?" Batman asked. If Gordon was feeling grim now, wait until he added his own rumination to the equation.

Gordon straightened, facing Batman directly. "You're about to tell me something that I am not going to want to hear, aren't you?"

"There's a good chance of that, yes."

"Good thing I took my blood pressure medicine then." Gordon made a face that was either a grimace or a smile. "Bring it on."

"Robin has deduced that every victim that has been chosen is somehow connected to either Raya or Dick."

"What?" Batman didn't need to see the whole of Jim's face to know it was hard as stone. "Every victim is connected to them?" He saw that dark head incline on a nod. "But, why?" he questioned. "What purpose does it serve?"

But Gordon suspected that he knew the reason even as he spoke the question. And what troubled him the most Batman knew, was in hearing that his niece and future nephew-in-law were involved. It bothered him as well. Batman suspected that Crane and his partner had a mutual agenda that bound them together: the synthesis of Crane's new toxin. But how each man intended for the toxin to be used was where the two agendas differed. For Crane it was about his research on the phenomenon of fear-it always was. And to accomplish that goal he needed Raya, who, for her own protection had been working remotely from the safety of the cave once it became clear he was synthesizing a new batch of _Inceptive_.

That Crane was using people who either had a criminal past or who were addicts as his test subjects was little more than a ruse that the doctor intended to use to draw out Raya. That the doctor knew that she would be unable to stand by as innocent lives were being cruelly snuffed out just showcased the brilliant mind that Dr. Crane did possess. But Batman knew that there was an even more sinister reason behind Crane's subject selection. Drawing out Raya would ultimately draw out Dick. And it was Dick that the doctor viewed as his greatest competition and Dick whom the doctor needed to eliminate in order to win the hand of his chosen Mistress.

_And neither was ever going to happen_, he thought, a slow fire beginning to burn deep in his soul. He'd stop him first.

"Crane stands the greatest chance of luring Raya into the open by selecting targets that are in some form or fashion connected to her..."

"And he'd ultimately draw out your oldest boy," Gordon finished on a sigh. "It's a domino effect basically. And every domino leads right back to our girl."

"That is what Robin believes, yes."

"Well, I can confirm that his theory is a valid one," Gordon said softly. "Our victim here?" He nodded towards where the coroner was loading the body into his van. "I'm positive he's a junkie by the name of Carlo Santiagi."

Batman straightened, instantly alert. "How do you know who he is without running his prints?"

"Raya was treating a junkie that had a scarred-over stub on his left hand where his pinky should have been about three months ago."

"So," Batman said slowly. "This man is connected to Raya..."

"Yes, he is." Gordon's voice was cold as ice. "And that Crane has selected a kid this time as his test subject is absolutely certain to draw our girl into the open."

"Crane won't get anywhere near her," Batman gritted. "I promise you that, Jim."

A police chopper swept by, lighting up the alley. Gordon glanced up for a moment, waited for the chopper to pass before he again spoke. But when he turned back he found that the man was gone; had disappeared as silently as a ghost in fact. Gordon grunted and then shook his head, a wry grin playing about his lips. "It's been a long time since he's done that."


	7. December 6th

**A/N:** Hello m'dears! Hope that the week is being fabulous to you!

_Just a note:_ this story is taking events from my story, **Love & Bullets**. The particular chapter that the dream sequence flashes to can be found in **Chapter 3: Dark Secrets** and explains more clearly just who the character Raya is.

* * *

_Said the golden Fe to her baby bird  
Do you hear what I hear  
Ringing through the town baby bird  
Do you hear what I hear  
A voice, a voice  
Rolling through the streets  
With a laugh as cold as the sea  
With a laugh as cold as the sea_

* * *

_December 6th_

_Just before midnight...  
_  
A storm had been brewing over Gotham for the last fifteen months. Mayor Quincy Sharp had stood upon his campaign podium and assured the people of Gotham that the streets of Gotham were going to be safe once the lawless and soulless were barricaded within the walls of his proposed super prison, a storm had still been brewing. It finally erupted when Bruce Wayne was imprisoned alongside Gotham's super criminals, unleashing a firestorm that tossed the prison and Gotham City into fiery chaos. Raya had barely been asleep (as ordered by her Uncle Jim) for an hour when the tempest broke, tossing her helplessly into the past, into another maelstrom of malcontent and death.

The huge white mansion sat on a lush stretch of green lawn. Outside, the house was decorated for the holiday season: clear white lights had been laid across the roof, wrapped around the windows and twinkled from the majestic columns and balustrades. A huge pine wreath hung from the double oak doors and was resplendent with a perfectly tied crimson colored bow that had ribbons dripping like blood. Inside, its edges were sharp and its surfaces hard. Colors were pale- lavenders and mint and somber gray hues. But for the red roses-it was always red roses that her father bought her mother-a symbol of love as fake as he was. In sleep she turned her head away, not wanting to be drawn back to this time, or to this place. She shuddered with her fear, with her rising panic and reached for the man that should have been asleep next to her, reached for his familiar warmth and comfort, for his protection against the flow of memories that were calling out to her, whispering to her about things that she didn't care to remember.

Any second this memory would give way to the nightmare that she dreaded with every fiber of her being, that she couldn't avoid awake or asleep. She hated this dream, hated the inexplicable fear that infused her when she had this particular dream. Only, Dick wasn't asleep next to her. He was helping to protect Gotham from the animals that had been tossed together inside one huge cage. So she was left helpless, defenseless, plunged headlong into the waiting abyss, a hapless victim that could do nothing but relive what her mind dictated that she must.

* * *

The man whose face was inches from hers held the gun he'd just used under her chin. One cheek showed evidence of where her mother's nails had scored the smooth flesh. Both his hair and eyes were the color of dark chocolate. He looked like a modern day James Bond in a suit and tie, tall and slim, sinfully handsome. But this man was nothing like the mythical hero that all little girls believed their daddies to be.

This man was a monster—of the same caliber as the super villains that threatened to consume all of Gotham within their madness. But unlike the Joker, or the Penguin or Victor Zsasz, this man hid his predatory nature beneath a carefully crafted mask of polish and sophistication, beneath the vast wealth and social prestige granted him at the time of his birth. She thought about screaming for help. Fear bubbled in her throat, hot and bitter. It closed in the pit of her stomach, hard and cold. But there was that look in his eyes, that dead-eyed, empty expression that told her he'd only be too happy to silence her.

"You're nothing but a bully." She winced at the pain and struggled to keep her mind clear. "A murderin' psycho-" she said and cried out when he backhanded her. The slap sent her tumbling down the stairs, the bright shock- from the pain of the fall as much as the slap- stunning her. And sent her plunging, tumbling headlong down the flight of stairs...

* * *

Raya sat up, having been awoken by the feeling of falling. She was instantly comforted by the cool feel of cotton sheets against her clammy skin. She swung her feet onto the floor, stood, and padded out onto the penthouse balcony. The cold wind was bracing, the smooth velvet dark soothing. She breathed in the smells of Gotham City—salt air, the scent of pine, hearths smoldering still with low burning embers. The familiar scents that permeated the city of her birth around the holidays always brought her comfort. Especially after she dreamed of the night her mother had been murdered by her father. But along with the familiar scents of home came the more acrid stench of smoke, smoldering wood and red-hot metal. She glanced to the northern horizon, saw flames and black smoke rising from the top of Wonder Tower and felt her stomach curl in fear.

The spires' burning remains were the only visible reminder of the evil partnership that had been between Doctor Hugo Strange and Ra's al Ghul. A partnership that they'd spent the last year trying to uncover. For months they'd all been tirelessly working not only to understand the point behind this city prison, but to prevent it being built in the first damn place. But it was only after Bruce was imprisoned that the answers finally revealed themselves. _Shoulda known Ra's was involved_, she thought, scooping stray strands of hair out of her face with a sigh. It was something that screamed of his fanaticism and obsession with obliterating what he felt was the filth.

Raya turned her head and saw more smoke billowing over the Industrial District and Amusement Mile, more flames reaching grasping, greedy fingers towards the skies over Park Row. Even surrounded as Gotham was by an endless flood of water, Arkham City still burned. And would continue too reek of blood and death and destruction for many months to come. The cataclysmic catastrophe that Bruce had predicted in every press conference he'd held about Arkham City had become a fact. And the only thing that they could now do was deal with the fallout. She folded her arms around herself to ward off the chill in the air and thought how inappropriately appropriate it was that chaos was again enveloping Gotham right before Christmas.

"Looks like you could use a hug," a voice said quietly behind her. Raya turned and saw Tim, still dressed as Robin, standing in the doorway. He looked about as exhausted as she felt and there were small rips and tears in his chest armor that said he'd not survived the attack upon the Manor unscathed.

"I won't refuse a hug." She admitted with a soft smile. "Least of all if the one who is hugging me is you."

"Knew you really like me more than you do Dick," Tim teased as he walked over to fold her into his arms.

She snorted as she burrowed against him. "Has Bruce made contact with anybody?"

"No." Tim sighed. "And he might not make contact with anybody tonight."

"Why won't he make contact with anybody tonight?" Raya asked curiously.

"Raya…" he began but Raya cut him off by holding up her hand.

"Why won't he make contact with anybody tonight, Timothy?" Her tone had taken on the last ragged edge of patience. "Tell me. _Now_."

"Joker's dead," he said on a sigh.

"Joker's dead?"

At his nod, Raya sighed. But she told herself that she really shouldn't have been surprised. When she considered the dangerous lifestyle that the self-proclaimed Clown Prince of Crime engaged in combination with the combative relationship between him and Batman, death became something of an inevitable possibility. She understood that, just as she understood that the Joker's death would weigh heavy on the heart and soul of Batman. He would blame himself, take the responsibility for the clown's death upon himself even while acknowledging that the freak had lived by his own rules and died because of his own poor choices. But knowing the psychological profile as well as the Joker's propensity for mind games put doubts in Raya's mind that he was really dead.

"Are we sure that the Joker's officially dead?" she asked. "This could be just some new sick and twisted game of his, Tim."

"Gordon saw the Joker's body after Batman carried him out of the Monarch Theater."

"I need to go and find Bruce then." Raya angled her head to look at Tim and he saw that worry was replacing the dark stain of memory he'd briefly glimpsed when he'd stepped out onto the balcony. "Someone needs to check on him, make sure he's alright. And," she said with a sigh. "I'm the only one at the moment who he might let near him."

"Do you have any idea of where he might be?"

"I know exactly where that man is, Tim."

"Really now?" Tim asked with a lifted brow. "And just where is he then Miss Smarty pants?"

"Tim." There was a note of exasperation in her voice now. "Where else do you think _Batman_ would go if he wanted to make sure that his arch-nemesis was really dead and not just playing some cruel prank on him for the sheer shits and giggles of it?"

It flashed into Tim, fast and bright. "The roof of the GCPD building."

"Can you think of a better place, besides his cave of course, for him to do the other thing that he's so good at doing?"

Tim's lips twitched. "He does tend to like brooding in dark, obscure places doesn't he?"

"Yes, he does," she replied.

"C'mon," Tim said. "Swinging will be the fastest way to get across Gotham at the moment."

"Alright."


	8. December 7th

**A/N:** Hello m'dears! Hope that the week is being fabulous to you!

To make this clear, this chapter and the ensuing next ones are all being written around the **Arkham Unhinged** digital comic series. Some influence is drawn from the videogame Arkham City, but it's indirect and generalized to fit within the scope of the comics.

* * *

_Said the baby bird to the mighty Bat  
Do you know what I know  
In this city all alone oh mighty Bat  
Do you know what I know  
The Hood, The Hood  
Is waiting in the cold  
Let us bring him back into the fold  
Let us bring him back into the fold_

* * *

_December 7th  
Just after midnight..._

_Trust the night_.

The phrase flickered into his mind as he prowled back and forth across the roof of the GCPD. He told himself he should be prowling the alleys of the Bowery or Park Row in search of the rest of Penguin and Two-Face's gang members. Or be helping the GCPD with weeding Ivy from her hot house in Amusement Mile. Yet he had chosen to come _here_. To come here and silently watch for the van bearing the body of his greatest enemy to arrive. He'd always known the feud between him and the Joker was going to end in one—or the both of their deaths. Even after everything the Joker had done—to the people of Gotham as well as to him and the members of his family, he would have saved him. But the Joker reacted in his typical impulsive fashion; indeed, his stabbing him in the arm had been what caused him to drop the only vial of antidote that would have saved the sadistic clowns life.

_Batman_ had failed.

He felt empty, hollowed out. What emotions throbbed inside him now were heavy and cold, and coated thick with guilt. Pain rippled as he stepped closer to the edge of the roof. Bruises were already spreading, creeping black over his skin. Batman was accustomed to injury, he reminded himself as a fresh wave of white hot pain shot up his ribs. Two were cracked, he knew, just as he knew hunting was going to be a study of sheer misery until they healed. Alfred had told him once, in his early days as a crime fighter, to know his limits. He'd replied then how Batman had no limits, couldn't afford to have them. Too many people were counting on him to stand between them and the forces of evil threatening to consume them. So he minimized the risks, took all the precautions he could and accepted that there were consequences associated with his job. When he donned the suit, assumed the identity of Batman, he was someone other than Bruce Wayne—the self-absorbed, borderline alcoholic and all around degenerate billionaire playboy society believed him to be. As Batman he was powerful, capable of effecting change and making Gotham just a bit safer for her people. His goal today was the same as when he'd first donned this suit—to help Gotham's desperate populace get out from underneath the rule of the criminals threatening to swallow them whole.

Tonight though he'd failed to keep his city safe.

Tonight those limits he'd long denied, claimed did not exist, had been reached. He'd found there was a limit to what Batman could accomplish by himself. He turned to prowl, the very essence of a black jungle cat stalking its prey, to the opposite side of the roof. A movement by the access door caught his attention. His body stiffened, gathering together in an automatic response to a potential threat. But then he heard a voice like velvet, soft and warm, softly call out to him. "Bruce?"

He turned at the corner of the searchlight emblazoned with a winged emblem formed out of thick metal and beheld a pretty dark haired girl wearing thin black cotton Capri pants and a GCPD raid jacket at least two sizes too big for her frame. _Raya_, he thought even as his heart twisted in his chest.

"What are you doing here?" It wasn't a growl. He just sounded exhausted. "Did Barbara call to tell you about the Joker?"

He looked dramatic, she thought. Mysterious. Dark and dangerous. Full of anger and turmoil. But he'd refuse any offer of comfort or sympathy, deny what he felt and wave off any concerns she might have. Raya knew full well that beneath the suit was a man who keenly felt for the people and city he risked his life to protect. And he was hurting; physically as well as emotionally. But no matter how badly he might want to be held and soothed, he would never consent to it. _Not without protesting first_, she thought as she crossed the roof to him.

"Tim came to the penthouse," she replied softly. "He was the one who told me about the Joker." She looked him up and down, saw the myriad of cuts, burns, and bruises. And knew there were probably a dozen more injuries beneath that suit that required immediate medical attention. But he'd ignore his body's needs and demands until he simply couldn't ignore them any longer. "You look terrible, Bruce."

Bruce sighed. Only _she'd_ dare tell him that he looked awful at such an inopportune moment. "Not a good time to tease me, imp."

"Just sayin'."

Bruce took that moment to try and read her thoughts, but found the language both foreign and frustrating. He studied her face, tried to gauge her emotions but nothing showed but for a bone deep weariness he understood all too well. When he'd first seen her standing there, he'd been staggered. And overwhelmed by a strange urge to be stroked and held, soothed and comforted. He chalked his reaction up to sheer exhaustion as much as to the close personal relationship he shared with her.

"It's been a long night," he finally said on a soft sigh.

"Been a long few days." She used her hand, intending to stroke it down his arm. And saw the wince of pain he was not quick enough to conceal when her hand bumped his shoulder. "What's wrong with your shoulder?"

"It's nothing," he said even as he grunted. "Just a scratch."

Raya looked down at the blood, his blood, on her hand, curled her fist over it, and pushed back the flood of dark memories that swam at the corners of her mind. "This looks like a wee bit more than just a scratch, Bruce."

He studied her for one long moment, but the set cast to her face didn't waver. He scowled, subtly intimidating, then growled; "leave it alone." Raya simply solved the matter by reaching up and brushing his cape from his shoulder. "Raya..."

"Quiet."

Her simple word held echoes of authority, undertones of compulsion. Hearing it; he angled his head, one black brow rising beneath his mask, then the ends of his long lips lifted. "I recall I _used_ to be able to intimidate you into doing what I wanted you too."

Raya stared at him in annoyed amusement. "Bruce, don't you realize that I _let_ you intimidate and bully me?"

"_Let_ me intimidate and bully you," he repeated the statement as if it were said in a foreign language. "And why have you been _letting_ me intimidate and bully you?"

"Because honestly?" she said on a sigh. "Jason tends ta give ya more than enough grief for all of us."

"That he does," he said with a heavy sigh of his own. "That he does."

She heard his bitterness and pain, his remorse and regret. But there was also a great amount of love and pride in his voice, in his eyes. She set her hand against his cheek. "Jason doesn't _like_ being at odds with you. He just hasn't figured out how to relate to you without antagonizing you."

"I know."

She turned her attention to his shoulder then. The wound was raw and angry and oozing blood still. He'd never admit that the pain was like hot teeth gnawing at his flesh. Nor admit who the culprit behind his stabbing was. But she knew it had been the Joker who stabbed him. Fear shuddered back to twist painfully with temper. _Goddamn clown_, she thought savagely. But her voice was absolutely calm when she said; "I'm going to need the antiseptic wipes from out of the patented Bat-aid kit."

"And here I thought you were going to tear me a bandage from your shirt, imp."

"Was that… humor?" her lips twitched. "Alright, now I know that besides some cuts, bruises and a knife wound to your shoulder that you've also got a mild concussion."

He humphed as he fished in one of the pouches on his utility belt and pulled out the packet of antiseptic wipes he carried. He tried to rationalize giving in by telling himself that he was only human, he was beyond the point of exhaustion, that even he needed to be comforted and fussed over. But he'd chosen this life. Chose to use the night, to become the night, and accepted the risks and the costs of his choices.

"It is going to need suturing and to be cleaned with something more than an antiseptic wipe," he murmured.

She used the tips of her fingers to remove the frayed fabric from the wound. She had small hands, he noticed as he watched her work. Quick, clever fingers. She pressed a clean wipe to the wound to slow any new bleeding and held her hand out for a sterile gauze pad. She secured the temporary bandage with medical tape, and gave it a final inspection. It would do for the moment.

"The wound will never fully heal," she said softly.

"It's just one more scar on top of many, imp."

_This is what separates you from them_, she thought on a sigh. _You are capable of feeling guilt and sorrow, of regretting when someone's life, be that life a good guys or a bad guys, comes to an end_. She watched the shadows in his eyes deepen and knew he was close to the limits of how much his mind and body could withstand before he would collapse. She indulged herself and wrapped her arms around him. By offering the sympathy and compassion she knew he'd never ask for, but which he desperately needed.

"Bruce, let's go home." She lay her forehead upon his chest. "You have done enough for tonight; more than one man should or could be expected to do in fact."

"You're wrong, Raya. I failed to keep Gotham safe." She noticed he kept his voice carefully controlled. But she heard the note of bitterness and anger, the blistering boil of self-hatred. She ached for it. And for him.

"_You_ believe _you_ failed Gotham. But it seems to me it was _Gotham_ who failed _you_ tonight."

He was in no mood to argue semantics with her so he simply said, "Let's go home, Raya."

"Uhm," she said slowly, hesitantly. "Ya _do_ know the penthouse is gonna be home for the moment, right?"

"Why is the penthouse going to be home for the moment?" he rumbled in a low growl.

"'Cause the foyer and driveway of the Manor is all sorts of messed up right now thanks to your boys."

"I'm noticing how you are conveniently blaming everything on the boys here, imp," he said dryly.

She scoffed indignantly. "I'll have you know _I_ was asleep at the penthouse at the point in time in which they wrecked the Manor."

Bruce just sighed and nudged her towards the edge of the roof. "Let's go," he said.


	9. December 8th

**A/N:** Hello m'dears! Hope that the week is being fabulous to you!

* * *

_Said the mighty Bat to the people everywhere_.  
_Listen to what I say_  
_Stand and fight people everywhere_  
_Listen to what I say_  
_Be strong, be strong_  
_Take back the night_  
_You can win with a show of unified might_  
_You can win with a show of unified might_

_Be strong, be strong_  
_Take back the night_  
_You can win with a show of unified might_  
_You can win with a show of unified might_

* * *

_December 8th._

"Alfred?"

"Yes, Master Damian?"

"I want to throw Raya and Dick a wedding."

Alfred looked over at his young charge and saw that there was a quiet earnestness upon his precious face. Master Damian so reminded him of Master Bruce during moments like this. Oh, there was little doubt in the butler's mind that Damian was a strong willed, stubborn and high strung boy. Alfred knew some of his young master's personality traits had also come from the woman who claimed to be the boy's _mother_. But it was his father's good and kind heart that beat within him and helped to temper some of those harder to deal with personality flaws the teen possessed. A smile hovered on the corners of the butler's lips but he tamped it down to say, "I do not believe Miss Raya and Master Dick have set a date for their wedding."

"They want to get married on Christmas Eve," the soon to be thirteen-year old said with a small smug smile. "On this Christmas Eve in fact."

"And how do you know that they would like to get married on this Christmas Eve?" Alfred asked while setting a plate of French toast piled high with fresh strawberries down in front of the boy.

"I overheard them talking about it a few days before Father was incarcerated in Arkham City," Damian said as he tucked into his breakfast with hearty gusto. "They not only admitted to each other about how they want to get married on Christmas Eve, but that they want to have the ceremony in the old gazebo in the back gardens at the Manor."

"Master Damian," Alfred said in a slightly disapproving tone. "You should not have been eavesdropping upon what was clearly a private conversation between Master Richard and Miss Raya."

"I know I shouldn't have eavesdropped upon their conversation," the boy retorted with a slight notch to his chin. "But I did. And now I can give them the ceremony that they want, on the day that they want it held on, with only the people that they want there."

Alfred silently studied his young master. A small and simple wedding ceremony was something he knew his oldest charges wanted most in the world. Neither Master Richard or Miss Raya had ever been bound by the same societal chains that bound his employer. They preferred to spend their nights at home over attending one of the social functions they were frequently invited too. But having a small and simple wedding ceremony was not something Alfred saw as happening at this moment. Not after the events of the night before. He warned Master Damian of that possibility.

"Your father is not going to want to host a wedding, even a small one, after the events of last night, Master Damian."

"That's why I don't plan on telling Father about the ceremony." Damian admitted with a slight grimace. "I figure this will be as much his Christmas present as it will be theirs. And seeing Dick and Raya get married will help him to get over the Joker's death," he said on an afterthought. "Show him something good has come out of the chaos of the last year."

It never failed to amaze the older gentleman about how astute the youngest Wayne family member was. _The boy is right,_ Alfred thought as he began to clean up the kitchen. _Seeing his eldest children marry will indeed show Master Bruce that something good has come out of the madness of this year._

Damian could tell that Alfred was starting to see the logic in having a Christmas Eve wedding. Which was great. He really needed the butler's help with figuring out some of the finer details concerning the ceremony. But then a silky smooth voice told him that just because the butler was leaning towards seeing things his way did not mean he'd help him. The thought rattled the teen enough that it made him ask;

"Alfred, you will help me plan out the perfect wedding ceremony for Raya and Dick won't you?"

The butler lifted eyes just a bit brighter than usual. "It would be my pleasure too, Master Damian."


	10. December 9th

**A/N:** Hello m'dears! Hope that the week is being fabulous to you!

* * *

_Hark! how the bells  
Sweet silver bells  
All seem to say,  
"Throw cares away."  
Christmas is here  
bringing good cheer  
to young and old  
Meek and the bold  
_

Carol of the Bells

* * *

_December 9th._

Dick was reading over some papers when he heard Raya say from the bathroom, "I think we should pull a penthouse cookie heist."

"Aren't we just a bit too old for middle of the night cookie heists, Rae?" he asked without looking up from the contract he was reading.

"Yes, we are a bit old for pulling cookie heists," she said as she walked out of the bathroom. "But I think it's a sacrifice worth making at this moment, Dick."

Now that got his attention. He glanced up. "And why is that?"

"Mainly it's because Bruce is not taking the death of the Joker well," was her reply. "And I really think he could use something like an old family tradition to help him to cope with the clown's death."

"I'm not sure I am seeing how exactly this will help him cope with Joker's death," he remarked in a dry tone.

Raya looked at him. "Remember how back when things would go wrong on a patrol that we'd rob the cookie jar and sneak into his room after he got home?" She waited until he nodded before she continued. "Well, we'd spend the rest of the night talking about what went wrong out there. He needs that. But he won't open up and talk unless _we_ somehow con him into it."

"And you think a penthouse cookie heist by his oldest kids is the best way to get him to open up?"

"I think we are the only two who he might open up too about the Joker, yes."

"You do realize he could be taking the death of Talia the hardest here." At her _ffff_, Dick sighed and said; "As much as you and I may not understand it and as much as we may hate to admit it, Bruce did love Talia. It's only expected he'd mourn her death."

"So we going to play under the deposition that Talia actually is dead then?"

"You don't think she is dead?" he asked.

"No, I do not," she said while shaking her head. "No more than I believe Ra's is dead in fact."

He arched a brow. "Any reason for why ya are thinking that?"

"She's an al Ghul," Raya replied simply as she stepped to the bed.

"And?" he said in a lazy drawl.

"And," she replied huffily. "One dunk into a Lazarus Pit is all it takes to bring the bitch back to life. Where she will," she said over his long, drawn out sigh. "Not only try once again to burn Gotham to the ground in her zeal to cleanse the city, but screw with both Damian and Bruce's heads' as well."

Dick smiled and said; "Her screwing with Damian and Bruce's head' is why you hate her so much."

Raya nodded. "Yep, it is." She pulled the papers out of his hand and tossed them before straddling his legs. "And if you or Bruce would ever look away for five seconds..."

"We don't kill," he cut in to say teasingly. "Not even if said person really, _really_ deserves it."

"I know," she said with a slight pout to her lips. "Ya really didn't need to rub it in."

"Rae," he said while smoothing his hands up and down her back. "What's really bothering you? You've been like this ever since the fall of the prison and I can't, for the life of me, actually figure out why."

"I dunno what it is really," she admitted. "I just have a sense that something bad is about to happen."

He'd learned a long time ago never to doubt her senses. His woman had a ridiculous habit of being right whenever she sensed something good or bad was about to happen.

"What is it you are specifically sensing, Rae?"

"I'm sensing Bruce is gonna repeat his usual pattern of working until he's about to drop from sheer exhaustion."

"And that's unusual because why?"

"Because I think Bruce is at the point of cracking."

"So," he said slowly. "You're figuring the Joker's death could prove to be the straw that breaks the Bat."

"I fear that he's standing on the brink," she said. "And we've seen what can happen when Bruce is standing upon the brink."

Oh yes, he knew well about what could happen when Bruce was pushed to the brink. He'd been there to witness the other two times that Bruce had pushed himself to the brink: the first leading to a broken back that had almost ended his career as Batman and the second leading his family to believe that he was dead. Suddenly, the reason for why she was so concerned, for why she wanted to plot something as silly as a penthouse cookie heist, slammed into Dick harder than a ton of bricks. He looked at her and said in a voice that was edgy now with his own dark and turbulent memories; "you're worried that Bruce will push himself too far this time..."

"I'm not worried he is going to push himself too far this time, no," she said with a shake of her head. "I'm downright _terrified_ he's gonna push himself too far this time."

"He's gonna be alright Raya." But even as he said it, Dick realized even he was struggling with believing it. "We'll be here to help get him through this bad patch."

"I don't know if he will let us help him is the thing," she replied in a subdued voice. "And what worries me the most is that if we aren't there to stop him, or catch him if he falls, we could lose him. And this time around I don't think…" she broke off as tears filled her eyes. "Oh goddamn it," she muttered as she turned her head away. "Not this bullshit again."

Dick saw her eyes well with tears; his breath trapped in his chest and was released on a huge sigh. "'C'mere," he said. He wasn't surprised when she buried her face against the curve of his shoulder. Oh yes, he understood the fear that was pulsating and pounding like a hurricane inside her. And he definitely recalled that dark voice that taunted and laughed at you. And he understood because it was _his_ fear, too. "Just hold on to me until you get settled," he whispered against her hair. "Okay?"

After a long, silent moment, she sniffed, and softened in his arms. "Yanno that I only get this churned up emotionally when I'm overtired."

He ran his hands up and down her back in slow, soothing circles. "You're also strung tighter than a violin string at the moment, Rae. You need to take some downtime before _you_ snap."

"I can't take any downtime at this moment, Dick." But she gave up, gave in, and wrapped her arms around him. "And I hate crying for the record. It gives me a headache and makes my nose redder than _Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer's_."

"Aspirin will cure the headache," he said glibly. "And you look adorable with your nose so bright."

Her head lifted; she met his gaze. "You're starting to annoy me, Dick."

"Good."

He grinned when she bared her teeth at him, snarled.

"Now's not a good time to piss me off, bird boy."

"Oh, I think pissing you off is a wonderfully fabulous idea," he retorted gleefully. "In fact, I'm thinkin' a quick and nasty little argument is _exactly_ what ya need at this moment."

She harrumphed. "I don't have time for either a quick and nasty argument or for the make-up sex that typically comes _after_ one of our arguments."

He waggled his eyebrows at her. "Skip the argument then."

"You're incorrigible," she said on a disgruntled sigh.

"Well, yea," he said cheerily. "But you forgive me for it because you're hopelessly in love with me."

She rolled her eyes but didn't deign to comment on what was an obvious fact. "I want to go and pick up a Christmas tree and some ornaments," she said instead. "Ya up for taking a ride?"

"I am." He leered at her. "Especially if you're the one offering the ride."

"Seriously?" she lifted her head to look at him. "Is sex the _only_ thing on your mind at this moment?"

He harrumphed. "So asks the woman who is currently sitting in my lap in nothing more than one of my t-shirts."

"Anyway," she said on a long sigh. "Are you interested in going with me to pick out a tree or not?"

"Sure." He kissed her on the lips; said, "Why don't ya find out if Dami wants ta go with us?"

"Good idea," she said impishly. "You'll have to behave with a chaperone along."

Dick responded by flipping her onto her back and tickling her until her laughter pealed through the penthouse like silver bells.


	11. December 10th

**A/N:** Hello m'dears! Hope that the week is being fabulous to you!

* * *

_Ding, dong, ding, dong  
That is their song  
With joyful ring  
All caroling  
One seems to hear  
Words of good cheer  
From ev'rywhere  
Filling the air_

_-Carol of the Bells (_composed by Mykola Leontovych with lyrics by Peter J. Wilhousky)

* * *

_December 10th_

"Are you certain no video footage of Dr. Elliot leaving Arkham City exists, Miss Raya?"

"So far?" Raya's fingers danced over the keyboard. "I have not seen any traffic cam footage that captures Elliot leaving Arkham City. She tapped a few more keys. "And all TYGER security footage has been erased. So…" she trailed off suddenly. Alfred glanced over and saw her gaze was locked on the computer screen. "_Shit, shit, shit_…" she breathed on a single breath.

Alfred made a distinctively disapproving sound over her choice of language but Raya didn't bother to apologize. They had bigger problems on their hands than her use of foul wording.

"Somebody's tipped the newspapers off to the identity murders and named Bruce as the killer." She hit a few keys and a montage of headlines from the morning papers splashed across the screen:

**POLICE SUSPECT WAYNE IN ARKHAM CITY MURDERS!**

**FROM PLAYBOY TO MURDERER: THE FALL OF GOTHAM'S PRODIGAL SON!**

**EVIDENCE AT CRIME SCENE REVEALS WAYNE TO BE THE KILLER!**

"We have to get ahead of this and fast," she said with a glance at the butler.

"I quite agree," Alfred replied in a stiff sounding voice. He took a seat in one of the other chairs and began to type commands into the computer. "Master Bruce would say an offensive attack with an aggressive defense is our best form of attack right now."

"Strike back hard and fast, provide plausible doubt, alleviate the suspicion…" she murmured in a distracted voice. "Twist the facts and turn them back upon the person to whom they belong."

It wasn't like Elliot was going to come out into the open and refute any of the claims they made. He couldn't afford to make such a foolish mistake. Even still, it was going to be a helluva battle to prove that Bruce was not the identity thief. If they wanted to succeed at keeping Bruce from being convicted of a minimum of _six_ murders they'd have to all work together. She looked away from the screen.

"I don't want to do this," she said to Alfred. "But we're gonna have ta wake Bruce. He needs to know the proverbial shit has hit the fan."

"I'm already awake," Bruce said as he came up behind her. "What's going on?"

She glanced over her shoulder at him. He didn't look so serious, she noted, not with his eyes sleepy and his face shadowed by a night's growth of beard. What he looked was… _human_. She liked him best at these times, when his eyes and voice were soft from sleep. He was more approachable during this time, more prone to humor and displays of affection and less likely to brood or scold. Her lips quirked upwards.

"Ya need a shave," she teased. "And a shower really wouldn't hurt either."

"Good morning to you too, imp."

But absently, Bruce rubbed a hand over his face, felt the stubble there and conceded that she probably had a point. It wouldn't do for him to go out as either Bruce Wayne or Batman looking as if he'd been shipwrecked on a remote island for the last month. He exchanged a silent look with Alfred before taking the cup of coffee the butler handed him.

"Has Elliot made any appearances in public as Bruce Wayne?" he asked her as he took a sip of the heady brew.

"No." Raya hit a few keys on the computer. "Not that we can tell. But," she said while angling her head to look at him. "Considering how scarred and puffy his new face likely is following his final surgery," one eyebrow lifted into one perfect, derisive arch. "I imagine that he will lay low for a few days. Allow time for the scars and swelling to subside before he tries to convince the world he's you."

Bruce had already suspected as much for himself. It'd been obvious from when he'd been face to face with Elliot that his final grafting procedure hadn't completely healed. _Not yet at least_, he thought while scanning the computer screens.

"You're filing an identity theft report?" He asked her.

"An aggressive offense is our best defense right now," Raya replied with a nod. "He stole your identity and we can prove it soon as we get our hands on a sample of the blood that was left behind in the room he performed the surgery in. But considering how I'm under strict orders to remain out of Arkham City still..." She paused to make a face. That she did not like the restrictions he'd placed upon her was clear. _Well, I won't be lifting those restrictions any time soon so she'll just have to learn to deal with it_, Bruce thought, sipping his coffee. "Means either Dick or Tim need to go in and get the samples that I need."

"I'll go tonight and get you a sample…" he began saying but Raya cut him off with a definitive and firm;

"No."

Bruce's expression darkened. Any and all trace of warmth vanished from his voice and his eyes went as hard as stone.

"What did you say to me, Raya?" he rumbled in a warning tone.

Raya knew she was treading on very dangerous grounds with him. But damn it, he'd suffered enough. She wasn't about to let him suffer more. And if him blowing up at her was what it took to get him to expel the emotional baggage he was carrying around inside him? Well, so be it.

"Go ahead and get angry with me," she said as she rose from her chair and slowly turned to face him. "Rant and rave at me if you want. It'll be better than watching you walk around this penthouse like a zombie for the last two goddamn days has been."

"Raya…"

"No, Bruce." She folded her hands over the back of the chair. "We're not playing the game your way. Not this time. You ordered me to remain out of Arkham City for my protection. Well, I'm now ordering you to stay out of there for the same exact reason."

Those eyes snapped with blue fire. "This is _not_ a good time to decide that you want to wage a one-woman mutiny against me, Raya. I am in no mood…"

"I don't care what mood you are in," she growled. "I'm telling you- stay out of that goddamn city!"

Bruce stalked, seriously surprising her with how intimidating he could still look when he was out of the Batsuit, until he stood toe-to-toe with her. There were few men; much less women who would dare to speak to him as his imp just had. And there ever fewer than that who would think to issue him orders and make demands. Not even Alfred attempted to order him around.

"Don't ever try to give me orders again, Raya," he said in a hard voice. "You _won't_ like the consequences."

"Goddamn it Bruce!" She all but vibrated with her annoyance, with her fear. "Do you think we can't tell- that we don't know you're hurting?" She raked her hands through her hair, fixed him with a look that was so intense, so emotionally driven that it blunted the edge of his temper and rattled him to the core of his being. "I love you, you stubborn, cynical, pessimistic pain in the ass." Her face softened for a moment but Bruce knew that she was in no way ready to concede the war to him. "And because I do love you, I refuse to meekly stand by and let you drown yourself in misguided regrets and guilt. Or allow you to continue slicing little wounds in your heart and soul all because your noble spirit has convinced you that you deserve the pain. And if it takes me," her eyes narrowed into slits. "Tailing you into Arkham City in order to stop you from hurting yourself needlessly?" Her voice dropped to a low, vicious hiss. "Well so be it."

"You are to stay out of Arkham City," he growled. "And that is an order!"

Raya merely straightened and lifted her chin, met his burning gaze steadily. "Ya want me ta remain out of Arkham City?" She folded her arms across her chest and spread her feet apart, reminding Bruce of a warrior getting ready to do battle. Only, he was the warrior she was preparing to do battle against. "Well then _you'll_ have to be the one ta ensure I do."

What has gotten into her all of the sudden? Bruce wondered. She'd never shown this much of a rebellious streak before. Inwardly, his grin was the very essence of predatory; he anticipated the challenge, was in the right mood to teach her a hard lesson about ordering him around. Outwardly, his expression said nothing at all. He merely looked down at her—then stepped closer, towering over her.

"I warned you," he gritted.

His face, she saw, was a mask of hard angles and planes—determination incarnate. He met her gaze—pinned her for one more brief moment—then turned and stalked away without saying another word. _Oh, that went fucking great_, was Raya's thought. But what was done was done and she couldn't take it back even if she might have wanted too. She locked gazes for a moment with Alfred, silently asking the older man about what she should do now. The butler smiled kindly and stepped forward to place a hand upon her shoulder.

"Endure, Miss Raya," he told her gently. "You said nothing that wasn't the truth."

"I know, Alfred." She raked her fingers through her hair; sighed. "I know."

"I'll speak with him," he said quietly. "See if I can't get him to see that you are only worried and don't want to see him hurt needlessly." He nodded to her before turning to walk away, leaving Raya alone with her thoughts.


	12. December 11th

**A/N:** Hello m'dears! Hope that the week is being fabulous to you!

* * *

_Oh how they pound,  
Raising the sound,  
O'er hill and dale,  
Telling their tale,  
Gaily they ring  
While people sing  
Songs of good cheer  
Christmas is here_

_-Carol of the Bells (_composed by Mykola Leontovych with lyrics by Peter J. Wilhousky)

* * *

_December 11__th__.  
_  
The silence was deafening.

Damian sat huddled upon one end of the couch, thumbing through a magazine and side-eyeing the two adults who were doing everything in their power to avoid so much as catching a glimpse of the other. The twelve-year-old finally heaved a despondent sigh at this rather sad turn of events before trudging out onto the penthouse balcony. He walked to the railing and stared out over the glistening city. The streets surrounding Wayne Towers were covered in freshly fallen snow. The windows of the homes and businesses situated amongst the building were frosted over with frothy thin streaks of ice. Colorful lights twinkled from rooftops, shimmered upon the Christmas trees that stood proudly on display, circled wrought iron ledges.

He could see the 100-foot artificial evergreen that was in the middle of Gotham Square glowing like a beacon against the chocolate velvet of the night. In the distance he could just barely see that the spruce and pine trees of the Thomas and Martha Wayne Memorial Park had been bedecked in a colorful array of holiday finery. Couples would either be skating on the frozen pond or taking a ride through the park in an old-fashioned sleigh he thought, dark brows drawing together over his small, upturned nose. Peals of laughter ringing from below caught his attention and he cast his gaze down to the streets in time to see three children throwing snowballs at each other.

He heard; "_'It's the most wonderful time of the year_...'" blaring from an apartment somewhere across the way. _Yea, right_, he thought sullenly. It was the most miserable time of the year in the Wayne household. Father was grieving for the death of the Joker (which Damian didn't believe for one minute), he and Raya were locked in a stony battle of wills, Dick had taken up for Raya and was also in a silent battle with Father, Todd and Drake had gotten into a physical fight the night before which resulted in Dick being stabbed through the arm by a miscellaneous piece of metal and Raya was now not speaking to either Drake (which was fine with Damian) or Todd (who he wasn't speaking with either) because of it. His family was literally falling apart at the seams with less than thirteen days before Christmas Eve.

_How am I supposed to give Dick and Raya the perfect wedding when everybody is angry at each other_? He wondered despondently. So engrossed was he in his depressed musings Damian didn't catch the sound of the balcony door being slid open, or take notice of the familiar tread of boots crossing the balcony to him. It wasn't until he caught a shadow of movement out of the corner of his eye that he realized he was no longer alone.

He cocked his head to the side and found himself staring at absolutely the _last_ person he wanted to be looking at in that moment. "Go away, Drake," he grumped. "I am in no mood to have to deal with you."

A smirk crooked one corner of the older hero's lips. "Better me," he said with a nod of his head towards the interior of the penthouse suite. "Then the Battle of Silence currently going on in the apartment."

As much as Damian hated to admit it, Drake was right. He did prefer his obnoxious prescience over the silent warfare being waged inside the apartment. He gave an unhappy sigh as he continued to stare at the festive world below. "Everything's all messed up," he said quietly. "Everybody is angry at somebody and nobody is doing or saying what anybody could."

"Family's fight, Damian."

"I know that, Drake."

"Then you also know that everyone will make up once they get over whatever it is they're mad with each other about," Tim said with a smirk.

_But will it be before Raya and Dick's wedding_? Was Damian's thought. He didn't realize he'd spoken his internal musing aloud until Drake started next to him and asked;

"Dick and Raya are getting married?" He blinked in surprise. "When did they set a date?"

Damian turned his head and stared hard at Drake. "They haven't."

Tim frowned in confusion. "Then when exactly is this wedding you mentioned supposed to be occurring?"

"On Christmas Eve," was Damian's grumbled reply. Tim folded his arms across his chest and cast an aggravated look at his younger brother.

"If Dick and Raya have not set a date," he said slowly. "Then how can they be getting married on Christmas Eve?"

Damian sniffed disdainfully and turned his head away. "Because they will be getting married on Christmas Eve."

"So help me..." Tim straightened and turned to the scowling boy. "If you're setting Dick and Raya up again I will hang you upside down from your bootstraps."

Damian sneered. "Don't make threats we both know you have no hope of carrying out, Drake."

"Damian..." was growled in a low warning tone. Damian finally threw his arms up into the air and snapped;

"Dick and Raya _want_ to get married on Christmas Eve, okay?"

"And?"

"And they haven't said anything about it to anybody because of everything that's happened in the last eleven months. So Alfred and I are going to give them the ceremony they want, where they want to have it and on the date they want it on."

Damian half expected Tim to either go and tell Dick or Raya about his intention to throw them a wedding, or laugh in his face about it. When nothing happened, he darted a quick glance at Tim's face; saw his eyebrows were lifted thoughtfully.

"Well," he said considerately. "It's certainly not something that has ever happened at a Batclan Christmas gathering before."

"What?" Damian asked, curious despite himself.

"A merry Christmas."

"So..." Damian said slowly. "You don't think it's a bad idea?"

Tim shook his head; grinned wryly at the bewildered expression upon his face. "Nope."

"Will you..." Damian swallowed around the bad taste in his mouth. "Will you help?"

Tim knew how much asking him for help with planning the wedding cost the little creep. There was a part of him that wanted to poke fun at the twerp for his mammoth sized ego taking a hit. But another part of him, a deep and dark part Tim suspected Raya of having influenced, whispered how this was the crossroads for his and Damian's relationship. A relationship which had been strained when the brat sucker punched him off a ledge in the Batcave and which grew progressively worse after the mantle of Robin was given to him. "_Try,_" he heard a familiar voice whisper inside his head. He cast a glance into the apartment, silently watching the two dark haired figures standing in the kitchen and doing dishes. _You guys so owe me for this_, he told them silently.

"Sure," he said. "What can I do to help?"


	13. December 12th

**A/N:** Hello m'dears! Hope that the week is being fabulous to you!

* * *

_Merry, merry, merry, merry Christmas  
Merry, merry, merry, merry Christmas_

On, on they send  
On without end  
Their joyful tone  
To ev'ry home

-_Carol of the Bells_ (composed by Mykola Leontovych with lyrics by Peter J. Wilhousky)

* * *

_December 12__th_

_Late night…  
_  
Alfred Pennyworth, humming _Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas_, moved through the Wayne penthouse, closing drapes, lowering shades, stopping periodically to enjoy the spectacular view which could be seen from any one of the huge windows dominating the cavernous living room. He went into the kitchen, placed a carafe of coffee, a club sandwich and a bowl of vegetable soup on a silver tray and carried it into the master bedroom. He stopped in the open room and frowned at the silence. The butler heaved a sigh as he returned to the kitchen, set the bowl of soup and sandwich in the microwave and with the coffee in hand took the elevator to the bottom floor.

Less than a minute later he'd reached the garage. But rather than get off as most people would, Alfred hit a hidden button on the panel and stepped back to wait. There was a low hiss, like that of a cobra, and then the elevator lowered, taking the butler down into a long, low-ceiling concrete chamber stretching the entire length of the building. The Batmobile (one of many) sat in the center of the room and was surrounded by an assortment of gadgets and gizmos that would have made many a super geek weep with envy. A large, high-definition flat screen computer monitor dominated the wall across from the sleek, black automobile. Three linked Cray supercomputers hummed quietly, providing enough data storage and computing power for all the Batfamily's crime fighting needs. Bruce currently was sitting at the computer terminal, watching GCTV, the local all-news station.

"It will be nice when the repairs are finished at Wayne Manor. Then you can trade brooding in a concrete bunker for brooding in a damp cave," Alfred said, pouring coffee into a cup.

He handed the cup to Bruce and then took a seat nearby. When the news broadcast was over, Bruce returned to what he had been doing before the broadcast had captured his attention, which was clumsily stitching a small gash on his arm from where something (and Alfred did not wish to hazard a guess as to _what_) had ripped open his flesh. Alfred took the needle from him, and studied the wound a moment before sniffing and saying, "Miss Raya could have stitched this without making such a bloody mess of it."

"She's the one waging war on me, Alfred."

Alfred sighed. Bruce angled his head to look at the older man's face. There was a look on the butler's face that said he had something he wanted to say, but was wisely biding his time about saying it. Bruce sighed. He knew that he may as well allow the man to have his say. There would be no living with him otherwise. He reached over to pick up his cup of coffee. "What is it you want to say, Alfred?" He sipped his coffee, looking over the rim of the cup at the butler, a slight smile curving his lips.

Alfred sighed, and without pausing said; "Don't you think you are overreacting, sir?"

"No, I don't," Bruce replied tersely. "It was Raya who laid down the challenge, Alfred, not me."

"Be that as it may," the butler's softly replied. "Can't you see she only challenged you because she's worried about you? And," he said while reaching for a pair of scissors. "Her only desire is to protect _you_ as you have protected _her _all these years?"

"I understand she did what she felt she needed to do." He turned back to the computer. "I just can't allow her to get away with manipulating me. _I'm_ the parent here, Alfred."

"I know you are, sir. And Miss Raya knows that, too."

For a while, neither man spoke. Finally, Alfred, asked softly,

"Do you remember the very first Christmas Eve Miss Raya spent with us?"

Like he would ever forget that first Christmas she'd spent with them. But where he knew Alfred was remembering a Christmas Eve Ball and a young girl experiencing her very first father-daughter dance, he was remembering the traumatic events to come after the dance was over. He was remembering the bruises mottling her face, abdomen and back, and the broken wrist needing to be surgically repaired because it had been so badly broken. Oh yes, he could remember that Christmas. He could remember spending the morning pacing the floors of Gotham General alongside Jim Gordon, feeling absolutely helpless. He'd been unable to do anything to assuage his imp's suffering. There were no words he could say to stem the rage he'd seen in his boy's eyes. And he remembered the rage threatening to consume him. It had been one of those rare times in which he'd been afraid he would break his one rule and kill the man responsible for having put her in the hospital.

"I remember that Christmas, Alfred," he said in a voice laced with memory. "Why are you bringing it up?"

"To remind you about how you manipulated Miss Raya in order to keep her from harm."

"I manipulated her in order to keep her father from again getting his hands upon her."

"Exactly," Alfred said. "And no matter how much she objected and begged you to let her return to school, to have some type of a normal life, you obstinately refused and told her you were doing what was best in order to keep her _safe_."

_Aha_, was Bruce's thought. Alfred had always had a prodigious and rather convenient memory when it so suited him to have one. But while he saw the man's point, he also knew he couldn't simply give in to her demand to remain out of Arkham City. "Alfred, if I allow her to win..."

"Winning," the butler cut in quietly. "Is not what Miss Raya is after here, sir. Perhaps," he allowed with a slight nod of his head. "Her method was a bit flawed. And maybe ordering you to remain out of Arkham City was not the wisest course of action. But winning?" Alfred shook his head. "Winning most certainly was not first and foremost on her mind when she chose to so strongly oppose you."

No, Bruce acknowledged, winning hadn't been her top priority. A winner would have played a better game, utilized moves that would have protected their game pieces and gained them higher point totals. Raya had willfully thrown herself onto the field as a pawn, a sacrificial piece meant to keep him distracted while the other tokens worked to surround his King.

"What do you suggest that I do, Alfred?" Some of the frustration he was feeling snapped and crackled in his voice but Alfred saw that a good deal of his anger had faded. And he was at least listening, which was a good sign.

"Just talk with her, Master Bruce," he suggested gently. "Listen to what she has to say."

"Things used to be so much easier when she fourteen," Bruce grumbled. "I could just intimidate her into doing whatever it is I wanted her to do."

Alfred's lips twitched. "Miss Raya has been letting you intimidate her for years."

"Yes," Bruce said dryly. "So she's told me." He looked up at the butler. "Is Raya home?"

"No," the butler said with a shake of his head. "She went out earlier with Master Jason."

"They'd better not be in Arkham City."

"I believe that they were tracking down a lead on the whereabouts of the Scarecrow, sir."

"Of course," Bruce grumbled. "The other order that I give her is the one that she decides to disobey."

"I believe that bit of insurrection came as the result of Master Jason."

Bruce sighed before getting up and crossing the bunker to a rectangular metal closet the size of a phone booth. Inside the cabinet, tucked away for when it was needed, was the infamous suit of matte-black body armor made of reinforced Kevlar bi-weave fabric and fire-retardant Nomex. Adjacent to the iron case, shelves held the steel-tipped black boots, gloves and arm gauntlets with the scalloped metal fins, a hanging cape, a gold utility belt, and—last but certainly not least—his infamous cowl. He regarded it now-the black pointy ears, the empty eyeholes, the gaping area where his chin and mouth were visible once he slid the mask into place. But the focus of his current study was not so much the mask itself but what it represented: _secrets_. Inside this one piece of Batman's arsenal was a million secrets. Batman's secrets. Bruce Wayne's secrets. The cowl was both the cloak and the dagger, and both had cut him deeply through his long career as a crime fighter. If he regretted anything, it was that a number of the choices that he'd made had deeply affected the lives of his family, of his closest friends. He scowled at his mask and asked himself the question that had been plaguing him for the last few days: _was Batman the solution or the problem_?

He found he no longer knew the answer as he reached to take the mask off the shelf.

"It looks like I will be going out again, Alfred."

"Very well, sir."


	14. December 13th

**A/N:** Hello m'dears! Hope that the week is being fabulous to you!

* * *

_On the first day of Christmas my true love gave to me...  
A perfect wedding ceremony!_

* * *

_December 13__th_.

"I'm not sure this is Crane's handiwork," Raya said while crouching upon a gargoyle outside the GCPD. "The markers of the toxin are not the same and the manner of death is different. If," Jason heard how she stressed the word _if_ and felt his lips quirk. "I was to make an official statement on what I feel was likely her cause of death? I'd have to say it was a drug overdose."

"Well, now, Kit," Jason said while leaning a shoulder against the ladder of the wrought iron fire escape he was standing on. "I gotta make an admission here..." He canted his head to look up at the woman perched above him and studying him with eyes that were narrowing into thin green slits. "I already know she died from a drug overdose."

"Then ya called me here for what reason, Jason?" she demanded in a low growl.

"'Cause I wanted ta talk with ya."

"Coulda just called me."

Jason snorted. "You woulda hung up on me the second ya heard my voice and ya know it."

"Yep," she said with a nod. "I would have."

"I see you're still pissed off about what happened the other night..." Jason muttered darkly.

"Of course I am still pissed as all hell at you and Tim! Not only are you complete asses for getting into a fight in the first damn place," she replied with a small sniff. "But ya allowed Dick to get injured in the process."

Sticky fingers of guilt were still clawing away at Jason over the events of a few nights before. But dammit, it wasn't like he'd intended to get into a fight with Drake. And it wasn't like he'd _meant_ for Dick to get hit in the shoulder with that piece of shrapnel. If Drake just hadn't popped off at the mouth about Christmas and family, they'd never have gotten into a brawl. And if they'd never gotten into that brawl then Dickie bird wouldn't have gotten hit in the shoulder with that piece of metal. Jason heaved a sigh as he allowed his mental musings to trail off. He could try and place the blame upon his brothers all he wanted too. He knew it was bullshit. He knew at least half the blame for the fight was resting squarely on his shoulders. There were options other than fighting. He coulda walked away for one. He coulda stopped when Dick begged them too. Dick wouldn't have gotten hurt if he only _coulda..._

coulda...

coulda.

_Always a case of woulda, shoulda, coulda with you, Todd_, his inner voice taunted in a dark, slimy whisper. Not that it was wrong. His whole life was one ball of events which could have been changed if he would have done what he should have. Jason stared out over the slumbering city, seeing but not seeing the ice coated streets, snowcapped rooftops and twinkling lights. Suddenly, he felt like the Giant from Oscar Wilde's story _The Selfish Giant_.

His early years as a hood on the street, doing whatever was necessary to ensure his and his mother's survival made him hard.

His feelings of inadequacy, of not measuring up to the standards that Dick set during his tenure as Robin made him reckless.

His bitterness and anger over Bruce's refusal to avenge his murder by murdering the freak who'd taken his life made him spiteful.

And his resentment over Tim being chosen as his replacement as Robin and as Bruce's son made him hateful.

His negative emotions had turned him into a red hood wearing version of Jack Frost. His heart pumped ice water through his veins, not red hot blood. He was living in a perpetual state of winter as the rest of his family was graced with the beauty and joys of the changing seasons. Even the woman, the _one_ woman he'd allowed close to him, he'd failed. All because he was incapable of not only forgiving those he felt somehow had wronged him, but himself most of all.

"Would sayin' I'm sorry make any of it better, Raya?"

That Jason used her full name rather than the pet name he'd christened her with years before spoke volumes to Raya. She angled her head and felt her heart clench at the momentary glimpse of the anguish stamped upon his face; in his eyes. Every bit of the vexation she'd been feeling with him melted. Nimbly she dropped down from her perch, grabbing hold of the railing at last second and pulling herself up.

"Jas, what is it?" she asked gently.

"It's nothing."

"It's obvious _something_ is bothering you," she said insistently. "Now, what is it?"

"Don't worry about it, Kit."

"Jason." The entreaty in that softly uttered word was like a vaporous mist of warmth blasting away at some of the ice coating his heart. "Even though we're not together anymore, I am always here for you."

"Another thing I screwed up," he muttered darkly. "'Cause I couldn't do the one thing, the one goddamned thing that ya ever asked of me: _try_."

"You're still trying, Jas."

"Not tryin' ta hard when I'm gettin' into all-out brawls with my younger brother, Kit."

"Why were you two fighting in the first place?"

Jason looked away from her, mumbled in a voice coated thick with shame, "'cause he said it would make you and the old man happy ta have me celebrate Christmas at the Manor with the family."

Raya's eyebrows shot up at that. "And you doubt that?"

Jason said nothing for a few moments. Finally he said softly, "no, I do not doubt _you_ wanting me there."

She reached out and set a hand on his arm. "Bruce wants you to celebrate Christmas with the family, too."

"Why would he want me there, Kit? I'd just end up ruining the holiday for everybody."

"He wants you there because you are his son," she said firmly. "And he loves you."

"Maybe."

"No," she gritted. "There is no _maybe_." She laid her palm against his cheek. "Jason, if Bruce didn't see you as his son, he wouldn't fight with you as he does. And if he didn't love you, he wouldn't think of you as his son. And while we're at it," she said with the ghost of a smile. "If you didn't love him, or see him as your father, you wouldn't be twisted up into knots about him not wanting you to come home for Christmas."

He stared at her for a few seconds. Then he shook his head and asked, "How is it you know so much about us, Kit?"

"'Cause I love you both." Her lips curved. "Even though you both tend to drive me absolutely nuts with this moody, broody shit you do, I still love you. Now," she said with a slightly mischievous look in her eyes. "Is one Red Hooded birdie coming home for Christmas willingly, or are we revisiting Bruce's birthday party from the year before this one? 'Cause I have handcuffs and plenty of red bows back at the penthouse."

Jason replied with a soft laugh.


	15. December 14th

**A/N:** Hello m'dears! Hope that the week is being fabulous to you!

* * *

_On the second day of Christmas my true love gave to me...  
Two golden rings  
And a perfect wedding ceremony!_

* * *

_December 14__th__  
_  
She was having the loveliest of dreams. She was dancing with Dick in some lush tropical paradise. The night was a velvet shroud shielding them from prying eyes. Dick buried his face in her hair as they circled slowly in the sand to music only they could hear. His heart was a steady beat against hers. Their legs brushed as she rose on her toes, sliding with him until they became just one shadow cast on the moon-speckled sand. He turned his head, skimming his lips along her cheek before they met hers.

A warm breeze blew the scent of bonfires, sun-scorched sand and the brine of the ocean all around them. She gave herself over to the sheer pleasure of being here with him, of moving with him to the music, of the magic surrounding them. It was a fantastical illusion, a wish only a heart in love could make. Suddenly the surf foaming up onto the glittering sand began to sound a lot like Mariah Carey singing _All I Want for Christmas_. Her first thought: since when does the ocean sound like a pop songstress? Her next thought? _He so better not be calling me to say he's managed to get himself in trouble_. She tried to cling to the realm of sleep, to the beauty of her dream, but the song interceded and began to pull Raya closer and closer to the realm of consciousness. She finally had no choice but to blink open sleep heavy eyes. She cursed as she reached over to grab the intrusive piece of technology off the nightstand. She rolled onto her back and slid her finger across the screen to answer.

"Hello?"

"Doc?"

That single, emotionally charged word was delivered in a voice as soft as a little girl's. Raya sat bolt upright in the bed, instantly awake. Her sudden move disturbed the small figure curled against her.

"Mmmpphf," he groused before flopping onto his stomach and pulling the pillow over his head. Raya smoothed a hand over his back, knowing it would lull the son, much as it did his father, back to sleep. She heard his breathing even back out and smiled as she balanced the phone between her ear and shoulder.

"Harley?"

"Yeah, doc, it's me."

There was a sniffle from the other end of the phone. Raya felt a moment's pity for the woman. She could not even begin to picture the mess she'd be if she were to ever lose Dick. Likely, she'd go mad from the anger and grief that would consume her. Even just thinking about her life without Dick Grayson caused her stomach to boil with dread, her heart to snag on a beat and her breath to become frozen in her chest. Quite simply, there was no life for her if that life was without her soon-to-be-husband, best friend, and partner.

"What do you want, Harley?"

"I wanna ask youse a question."

"Okay…" Raya said slowly. "Ask it."

"Why?"

It was not exactly the question she was expecting. Raya slid from the bed and padded on bare feet out into the living before asking, "why what?"

"Why did Bat-brains fail ta save Mr. J?" Harley demanded in a shrill, tinny voice that grated upon Raya's nerves. "Why did he allow my _puddin'_ ta die?"

"Batman didn't fail to save the Joker. _Joker_ is who failed to save Joker."

"That's a lie!"

"No, it's not." Raya retorted in a cold, hard whisper. "It was your _puddin'_ pops own stupidity that caused his death."

"How would ya know, Doc?" The question was uttered in a tone just pulsating with rage and grief. "Ya weren't there."

"I knew your psychotic boyfriend," Raya replied. "I knew about his impulsive and reckless behavior. I knew how cunning and manipulative he could be. I knew how he was lacking in both empathy and impulse control. And I knew that when it comes to Batman he'd do absolutely anything for a laugh. So," she growled over the mad woman's shrill curses. "I knew the bastard stabbed Batman in the shoulder. And the son of a bitch's inability to refrain from causing his nemesis pain is what _caused_ Batman to drop that precious vile of antidote he so desperately needed."

Harley scoffed. "Well, if'n the Bat-brains woulda just turned over the antidote like he was supposed ta he wouldna gotten stabbed."

"That's bullshit and you know it," she snapped. "Even if Batman had turned the vile over, the Joker still would have attacked him. Either way, Batman would have been stabbed, shot, or had some gag item dropped on his head."

"Well, that ain't what happened, now is it doc?" Harley said in a low whisper. "Mr. J is dead and I'm all alone."

Raya again felt a moment's pity for the grieving woman. As much as she hated the Joker, as much as she did not regret his death, as she much as she found it a fitting end for a man who'd caused so much misery for not only the city of Gotham but for her family as well, she was still capable of empathizing with Harley for her loss. In her own sick and twisted way, Harley Quinn had truly loved the monster. It was only to be expected she'd grieve for him. "I am sorry, Harley."

"Take your apologies and stuff 'em, Doc."

Raya bit back a sigh and raked her fingers through her hair. "This is a turning point…" she began but Harley cut her off.

"Oh, you're right about that, Doc. _I'm_ now in charge. And I gots plans for how ta avenge Mr. J's death. Wanna know what they are?" She scoffed. "Ta bad! You'll have ta wait and find out with the rest of the idiots!"

"Harley," Raya said with as much patience as she could muster. But she was quickly running out of patience with the demented woman. "I don't know what you are up to here by calling me like this. I don't know what you are exactly after by calling me in fact."

"I'm callin' ta let ya know that I'm after vengeance."

"Well you won't get it," Raya growled. "You lack the skills necessary to carry plans of revenge all the way to fruition."

"Oh, yea? And how would youse know?"

"Because I have those skills," she said it smoothly, with the quiet assurance and confidence of a woman who knew she was well trained. "And I acquired those skills over a very _long_ apprenticeship. Skills that make me a threat to someone like _you_."

"Oh and what'll ya do ta me, Doc? Analyze me ta death?" A hard ball of laughter rolled through her auditory canal. "I ain't afraid of ya. Youse ain't nothin' but a pampered little princess anyway."

"Oh, Harley," she said on a bitter, cold laugh. "I'm much more like an ocelot than some pampered little princess. This is why I am telling you right now that if you or any of those painted baboons working for you come after Batman that I will hunt you down. And when I find you, Harley? And believe me," she said smoothly. "I _will_ find you. When I do," her voice dropped now to a low, dark hiss. "I will rip you limb from limb."

Whatever the madwoman was shrieking was lost when Raya flung her phone against the wall, smashing it.

"Well," a soft voice rasped from behind her. "At least you didn't break any bones in your hand this time."

She felt her stomach drop at the sleep-roughened sound of Bruce's voice. Turning, she looked over at him. Even now he managed to look dark and brooding, especially with the ravages of grief and exhaustion carved into his handsome features. "Did I wake you? I'm sorry if I did. I was trying to be quiet."

He gave a shake of his head. "It wasn't a noise factor that woke me, imp." His voice was thick with sleep, but despite still being blurry-eyed he walked towards her. "It was hearing you threaten to rip Harley Quinn apart that woke me."

"And I will if she comes after you." She lifted eyes that glowed like a cat's in the darkness to his face. "If I have to burn Arkham City to the ground in order to keep you safe, I'll do it."

That burning the prison to the ground was the least of what she'd do to protect him or any member of her family was something Bruce was becoming increasingly more concerned over. He feared there would come a time where she'd cross that line, where she'd give into that temptation they all struggled with. And he feared he wouldn't be there to catch her in the fall.

"Ray…"

She held up a hand to silence him. "It's late and we're both too tired to delve into this argument again."

"How about we call a truce and put an end to this silence between us then?"

She canted her head to the side, studying him silently for a moment. "Alright," she said in a firm voice. "So long as we agree that this is not in any way a concession to the war."

He stroked a finger over her cheek. "Where did you get this stubborn streak from?"

"Uncle Jim claims I got it from you," she retorted, the ghost of a smile hovering on her lips. "But I tend to think that it's both your faults personally."

Bruce just sighed. "How about we brew some coffee and have a talk, imp?"

"_Have a talk_ _with you_ is usually code for _get into a fight with you_," she teased.

Bruce just turned her towards the kitchen. "And that's two extra patrols," he huffed.

"Wha?" she asked with a bewildered glance over her shoulder. "Two extra patrols?"

He nodded. "Every time you offer me one of Dick's wise cracks, he gets two extra patrols."

Her eyebrows lifted at that. "Oh, well, in that case, lemme smart off some more then."

"He's got about ten years of extra patrols to work off because of your sass."

"It keeps him in Gotham."

His fingers squeezed on her shoulders. "You keep him in Gotham."

"See my logic finally do ya?"

Bruce just harrumped and pointed to the coffeemaker. "Just make the coffee."

She shot him a look and said mischievously, "I happen to know there's a fresh made batch of chocolate chip cookies just waiting to be raided."

"It's barely five AM…" Bruce began but he fell silent when memories long buried surfaced, reminding him of dark mornings like this one that were spent deep in conversation over mugs of hot coffee and a batch of freshly baked chocolate chip cookies. He looked at her, the ends of his long lips quirking. "Has Alfred ever figured out that it was you two stealing his cookies?"

"Bruce," Raya said with a roll of her eyes. "Why do you think there were freshly baked cookies in the jar every night? It was our little family tradition. And Alfred played his part by being our cookie enabler."

_A family tradition for a most unusual family_, he thought while studying her. But at the end of the night, all they had was family. And he wouldn't trade any of them for anything.

"You make the coffee," he said. "I'll get the cookies."


	16. December 15th

**A/N:** Hello m'dears! Hope that the week is being fabulous to you!

* * *

_On the third day of Christmas my true love gave to me...  
Three baby brothers  
Two golden rings  
And a perfect wedding ceremony!_

* * *

_December 15__th__.  
_  
"So you and Bruce have managed to actually reach a truce? At least," Dick said with a tired grin. "You've reached a truce for the _moment_."

"We've reached a truce," Raya replied with a soft sigh. "But Bruce and I have not reached a compromise about the issue still standing between us, Dick."

Dick peeled his mask off and dropped it onto the table beside his computer before asking, "so he's refusing to remain out of Arkham City still?"

"Pretty much."

"Which," he said dryly. "Means you're following him into the city still."

Her lips curled. "You know me so well."

"I oughta know how that little mind of yours tends to work by now," Dick said while peeling his suit off. He glanced over at the computer screen, wagged his eyebrows. "I should be charging ya for the show yanno."

"I'll wire twenty singles to ya," Raya quipped while quickly scanning his body for signs of injuries. "A hundred if the Bat boxers go."

Dick chuckled before settling his laptop in front of him on the bed. "Glad to see you're in a better mood."

"I'm Skyping with the sexiest man on the planet," she teased with an impish gleam in her eyes. "And I ended my war of silence with Bruce. What could be better?"

"Did you now?" he drawled lazily. "And how much is the end of your war of silence going ta cost me?"

"Oh," she said impishly. "Just _ten_ additional little patrols."

"I'm so glad ta know that _your_ little war with Bruce has managed to net _me_ extra patrol shifts," Dick said dryly.

"Ya knew what ya were gettin' into when ya asked me ta marry ya, bird boy."

"Rae," he replied in a husky voice. "I'll take a lifetime of patrols so long as I can go on every one of them with you."

"If that's your way of apologizing for leaving me here to babysit tall, dark and moody, I accept." He saw her lips curve, warm with affection. "And I concur."

"Well, I am sorry for having left you alone to not only deal with the fallout from Arkham City, but the problems that arise in Gotham on a normal basis." He grimaced and raked a hand through his hair. "I really wasn't expecting that the Titans would need Tim's help, or that I'd have to send Jason and the Outlaws off to the Middle East to track down that arms shipment for me."

"Things have been relatively quiet on the Gotham front," Raya told him honestly. "And I do have Damian here to help keep an eye upon Bruce."

"You're still dealing with tall, dark and moody though."

"And I can always call upon Clark if things get really hinky dinky with him." Her eyes gleamed with dark humor. "Let the man of steel deal with the man of iron will for a change."

Dick snorted a laugh. "What did Clark do to deserve such a harsh punishment?"

"Nothing," she said with a giggle. "It was either put him or Damian up against Bruce. And since Dami has a broken wing…" she trailed off, grinned.

"Speaking of our baby birdie," his lips crooked. "Figured out yet what he's up too?"

"No," she said on a sigh. "But I do know that whatever it is, it's big."

He arched a brow. "Oh? And how do you know that whatever our little bird has planned is big?"

"'Cause our little birdie went out with Tim the other day willingly and without making any of his usual snark about having to go anywhere with him."

Both brows shot up at that. "And they came home with all body parts still attached to their bodies and without a dozen cuts, bruises and bumps needing to be seen too?"

"See why I say that whatever it is he's got up his little cast is big?"

He gave a slight nod of his head. "Oh, absolutely," he said, folding his arms across his chest. "Though Damian being up to something doesn't necessarily surprise me. And if he's got Tim involved it can only be something big."

"Me too."

And," he added. "I'm pretty sure the _something big_ is somehow gonna involve _us_."

She canted her head to the side, studied him for a moment with a thoughtful expression upon her face. "Ya don't think Damian and Tim are working on a way to get us to the altar?"

"_Damian_ planning our wedding would not surprise me in the least," Dick replied in a dry tone. "And after what he pulled at Bruce's birthday bash, I'm sure it's safe to say that he'll go to whatever length he has to to get us married. But I don't think Tim would help him."

"Not without tipping us off at least."

"Exactly," he said.

For a while, neither one spoke. Finally, Raya, said softly,

"Yanno, we could always end this marriage issue by flying to Atlantic City."

"Rae, no," he muttered.

"Why not? It would certainly put a stop to Damian."

"I've already flubbed the proposal," he said with a grimace. "Let me at least give you the happily ever after you deserve."

Even over a computer screen she could see the storm clouds in his eyes. _Silly man_, she thought with a small sigh. _Don't you know that I'm already getting my happily ever after_?

"Dick," she spoke gently now. "By marrying you I am getting my happily ever after."

His expression softened. "How do ya know when ta do that?"

"Do what?" she questioned with a curious look.

"How do ya know when to say just what it is that I need to hear?"

Raya laid a hand over her chest. "My heart tells me."

"What else is your heart telling you?" he inquired with a crooked grin.

"That it misses you something terrible," she replied. "And that it hopes you are coming home on Monday as you promised."

"If it'll promise to wear that see through red number I found hidden in the back of the closet," he said with a playful leer. "I'll be home tomorrow."

She gave him a smug look. "Ya got yourself a deal, bird boy."


	17. December 16th

**A/N:** Hello m'dears! Hope that the week is being fabulous to you!

**S/N:** This chapter predates the opening of my other story, **The Harlequin's Revenge**.

* * *

_On the fourth day of Christmas my true love gave to me...  
Four broken ribs  
Three baby brothers  
Two golden rings  
And a perfect wedding ceremony_!

* * *

_December 16__th__._

Police Commissioner Jim Gordon paced back and forth amongst the sea of flashing Police cars, vans, buses, and motorcycles that lined the makeshift bridge. GCTV news choppers as well as Police helicopters whirred overhead, their spotlights sweeping over the twisted ruins below them. Even the canine units stood at the ready, the dogs silent as they, much like every Gotham City Police Officer stood at the ready, just waiting for him to give the order to sweep in, hunt down, and bring to justice the deranged woman holding their fellow brothers in blue inside her mausoleum of memory. He stood watching the choppers in the distance before he realized he'd been joined by a dark and silent shadow.

"Got my message I see."

Gordon watched as that cowled head bent in a slight nod. "Harley Quinn?" he asked.

"Of course." He paused to run a hand over his face, suddenly more tired than he could remember being in a great long while.

"What happened?"

"That madwoman's goons ambushed some of my men outside Blackgate and brought 'em here. We can't even get close to the damn Mill because of the snipers she's got posted around the District."

"I'll handle it," Batman rasped.

"You sure?" Gordon turned to look at Batman, his eyes grim and face weary. There was a lot an old war-dog like him could read in the face of a man even as stoic as Batman. And what he saw was an exhausted, traumatized man struggling to keep a lid on everything. "You know she could be right," he said quietly. "This could well be a trap."

There was only a faint flicker in those stony blue eyes which said he knew who the 'she' was that Jim was talking about. But it didn't stop Batman from saying, "Have your men pull back to a avoid anyone else from being drug into the Mill. I'll handle Quinn."

Gordon could do nothing but nod and watch as Batman fired his grapnel gun. He turned to walk back towards the police cars but stopped when he spied movement in the shadows near the old Gotham City Radio Station building. _Why am I not surprised that you followed him in_? He thought before joining her in the dark alcove between the radio station and the abandoned complex that was next to it.

"Weren't you told to remain at home?" he asked the masked woman.

Raya nodded and used the filters in her mask to zoom in on the dark shadow perched high above the Industrial District on an old smoke stack. "Quinn's got herself holed up in the old Mill?" At Gordon's nod she sighed. "And there's no stopping her I take it?" She paused for half a second before asking, "Not without calling Batman in for the assist at least?"

Gordon heard the worry and concern in her voice, saw that her body was as taut as razor wire and heaved a silent sigh. Dealing with Gotham's dark and moody Knight was clearly beginning to take a toll upon her.

"I'm afraid not," he said apologetically. "We have no way in which to get around the snipers the deranged woman has posted around the Mill."

Raya shook her said and said, "I'm going to go and give Batman a hand."

Gordon had deduced that that was going to be her reaction. He did have to give her credit, though. She'd managed to refrain from blowing into the Mill like a hurricane once it became clear Quinn was settling in for a siege. But the rules were different now that Batman had entered into the fray. Gordon told himself that he should have kept the existence of the sniper's to himself. But he had never lied to his girl, not even when telling her the truth had caused her an endless amount of pain and suffering. And he knew exactly what was bothering her about Batman going after Quinn by himself: the likelihood of this turning into another of the Joker's contingency plans. It was bothering him as well.

He reached up and took off his glasses, took a minute to fish around in his pockets for a rag to wipe the lenses with before saying, "You know that you cannot follow Batman into the Mill."

"He shouldn't even be in there." Her eyes flashed momentarily with green fire. "But the stubborn ass man wouldn't listen to a damned word I had to say."

Gordon knew that if he voiced too much concern or showed any sign of the familial connection between them that he could compromise her identity as the Fenix. But there wasn't a switch inside him that he could flip to turn off his _dad mode_. And _he_ was this girl's dad he thought savagely. He didn't need a legal document to substantiate his parenting rights. He'd chosen to take up those rights.

"I know you're blaming yourself for not stopping Batman from into Arkham City. Don't. It isn't up to you to stop him."

"It is up to me," she insisted. "When Nightwing and Red Robin are away from Gotham, it is up to me and Robin to ensure Batman comes home every night." She paced away, stared pensively into the distance. "I should have called Nightwing home. I should have told him about the threats Quinn made against Batman."

Gordon grunted. "Batman would not have listened to Nightwing any better than he has been listening to you."

If there was one thing she could always count on her uncle for, it was to tell her the cold hard truth. No matter if she wanted to hear that truth or not. Her lips curled upwards.

"How is it I'm the one with the degree in psychology and yet you understand Batman better?"

"I've been dealing with Batman a whole lot longer than you," Gordon replied with a twinkle to his eyes. "I know just how stubborn a man he can be."

"And?"

"I also know how stubborn and willful you can be. Which is why I asked him to keep an eye on you."

"So you put an immovable wall in front of me?" she drawled in a lazy tone. "Gee, thanks, _Dad_."

"And as your _Dad_, putting Batman in your way was _my_ way of ensuring you'd remain out of trouble. Especially since you," he said with a knowing look. "Are more than adept at manipulating your fiancée into doing whatever it is you want him too."

"Aha," she said with a soft cough. They'd never _openly_ discussed whether or not he knew Dick was Nightwing. But she told herself that she wasn't surprised that he knew. Her uncle was a great detective, in the same class as Batman in her mind. But now wasn't a good time for them to discuss his getting a masked crime fighter for an in-law. "So, you are thinking Quinn's holed up in the Mill somewhere?" she asked instead.

"That's what it looks like, yes."

"Then I will focus on the area around the Mill. I'll report in if I learn anything that might be of any use."

Gordon knew it was pointless to ask her to stay out there with him. He knew she wouldn't. Not with Batman inside the madwoman's lair. And not with Batman's mind being scrambled like a grief-stricken egg.

"Just be careful," he finally said. "I don't need _you_ falling into the hands of any of those painted goons Quinn's got working for her."

"I won't fall into her hands," Raya promised a second before firing a line at one of the circling police helicopters.

Gordon watched as the helicopter banked to the right and disappeared among the others circling around the District. The part of him he couldn't shut off was tempted to raise Batman on a radio and alert him to his petite shadow. But another part, a dark and wizened part that'd seen many a man with the same grim and bleak expression told him if anybody was capable of keeping the Dark Knight from falling off that cliff, it was their girl.


	18. December 17th

**A/N:** Hello m'dears! Hope that the week is being fabulous to you!

**S/N:** This chapter again predates the opening of my other story, **The Harlequin's Revenge**.

* * *

_On the fifth day of Christmas my true love gave to me..._  
_Five cluster headaches!_  
_Four broken ribs_  
_Three baby brothers_  
_Two golden rings _  
_And a perfect wedding ceremony!_

* * *

_December 17th._

"Bruce?" Raya said for what felt like the millionth time that night into her comm. "Bruce, _please," _she begged. "Say _something_."

_Say anything_, she entreated the absent man silently.

But there was no reply from the errant, and currently incommunicado Dark Knight.

"Goddamn it, Bruce," she whispered in a broken whisper. "Don't you know that fucking clown just ain't worth it?"

_Don't you know he's not worth a tenth of you?_ she thought, her shoulders drooping beneath the weight of her soul-shredding fear. She shoulda confronted the idiot man the night he'd entered this perverted tribute to the clown. She shoulda refused to back down. She shoulda insisted he take her with him into the Mill. She shoulda told Dick he needed to come home. Shoulda told him their parent was floundering. Shoulda sent out the _all-birdies-need-to-return-to-nest _call.

_Shoulda, shoulda, shoulda_... she thought while prowling back and forth across the helipad of the old GCPD. There were just so many things she _shoulda _done, but hadn't. Guilt spilled like shape memory polymer over her shoulders, down her back. _C'mon, Bruce... _she pleaded silently with the absent Wayne patriarch. _Answer me_!

A ring of police helicopters swarmed like locust overhead but she ignored them. Arkham City, with its streets cleared of all the goons, degenerates, unlucky and mentally unstable who'd been dumped here a few short weeks ago, was a virtual ghost town. The choppers sweeping their brilliant beams over the collapsed city accomplished nothing but to highlight the crumbling decay of the old Gotham docks, the watery destruction of Amusement Mile and the blackened, twisted remnants of what was left of Park Row.

The city was little more than a caricature of old North Gotham. Unlike the rest of Gotham City, which was bedecked in Christmas finery and merriment, this part of the city was a barren wasteland void of anything resembling holiday cheer. No children ran here, laughing gaily. No couples were holding hands as they walked along the amusement promenade. Stores weren't blaring holiday music. Houses and apartment complexes did not have twinkling lights adorning their balustrades. Arkham City was officially the hometown of the _Grinch Who Stole Christmas._

The police helicopters circled over the old Sionis Industries Steel Mill, highlighting the cold furnaces and smokeless smoke stacks. A huge portrait of the Joker fluttered in the arctic breeze, sickening her. Somewhere within Whoville, her Kevlar wearing parent was possibly lying dead, or dying. She hesitated only a moment before reaching into her side pocket and pulling out her cellphone. She stared at the flat electronic device for a moment, told herself that she really shouldn't bug Tim at the moment. He'd only just returned from Russia the night before, needed to take some downtime, get some sleep. But anything and everything she said to keep herself from calling him had a voice whispering back, "bullshit."

_It's not even midnight on the West coast, _she thought, worrying her lower lip with her teeth. _And Batman needs Robin. _You _need Robin._

She told herself for the thousandth time that she shouldn't call him or involve him in this. But one more glance at that smiling shroud had her giving in, had her pulling off a glove and tapping the screen with one elegant finger. Soon as her home screen popped up she dialed Tim's number. It rang four times. She was about to hang up, figuring he was either asleep or busy when she heard the phone click and heard Tim say, slightly out of breath; "isn't it two-thirty in the morning there?"

She had to swallow around the lump in her throat. "...I catch you at a bad time?"

"Was just hopping out of the shower actually. What's up?"

Normally, she'd have made some innocently playful quip about him being in nothing but a towel. But she was in no mood to tease him. Not at that moment. Not with the situation she found herself in being so bleak and dire.

"I'm sorry to call but..." Her voice broke, and her vision fractured as tears welled, spilled down her frozen cheeks. "Oh, God, Tim...ya gotta come home," she paused and drew in a watery breath before saying, _All-birdies-need-to-return-to-nest._"

"All right, take a breath." Worry and concern was like melted caramel in his voice. He waited until she'd regained control before saying, "Alright, now tell me what's going on."

She scraped her hair away from her face. "Bruce was called into Arkham City by Uncle Jim last night. Harley Quinn has some cops she's holding prisoner..."

"There's a shocker," Tim interjected in a dry quip. "It's Christmas in Gotham and one of our bad guys is celebrating in their usual violent style."

"No, Tim," Raya said. "That's not what Quinn is up too here."

"What do you mean?" he asked curiously.

"She called me the other night and threatened to make Batman pay for the death of the Joker. She told me she's got something planned to honor that fucking clown. Then this happened and I knew she was making her play, luring the idiot man into her psychotic web. Of course," she was spitting the words out now, nearly tripping over her tongue in the process. "I told him this was a trap. But he wouldn't _listen._ Nor would he agree to call you or Dick home, or take me into the city with him. He walked right into whatever that psychotic bitch has planned. And has not made contact with any of us since last night." She paused to take a breath. "I'm sorry, I know the Titans need you..." guilt was like acidic ooze in the pit of her belly. "But I need you to come home, Tim. _Please._"

It was absolutely silent on the other end of the phone, which did not ease her anxiety or guilt any. Then Tim heaved a heavy sigh. She could almost imagine him standing in front of the huge bay windows of her West coast apartment, staring out over the dark Bay. "Jesus, Raya. Why didn't you call to say things were going to hell and that you needed help?"

"Because," she said with a moist sigh. "I was trying to take care of things here on the Gotham front so that you and Dick and Jason were free to worry about your other cases."

"We're so gonna discuss that when I get home," he grumbled.

"You are coming home then?" The hopefulness in her tone disgusted her. But she was so pathetically grateful to know he was coming home that more tears spilled, unchecked, down her cheeks.

"I'll be there in a few hours," he told her in a reassuring tone. "And Raya?"

"Yes, Tim?"

"It's going to be okay."

"You promise?"

"I promise."


	19. December 18th

**A/N:** Hello again m'dears! I hope the week is being good to you :)

**S/N:** Events of this chapter are intended to be an epilogue to the events of what I'd wrote in the **Harlequin's Revenge**.

* * *

_On the sixth day of Christmas my true love gave to me...  
Six crime fighting friends  
Five cluster headaches!  
Four broken ribs  
Three baby brothers  
Two golden rings  
And a perfect wedding ceremony!_'

* * *

_December 18__th_.

Harley Quinn may have had her vengeful plans interrupted, but in no way in hell did it mean she was going to be carted off to Blackgate quietly. She slipped free of her cuffs the second she was placed inside the prison transport van, knocked the pig who was supposed to be guarding her unconscious, and opened fire with the assault rifle he'd so thoughtfully left for her. The commotion attracted the attention of Tim (who'd yet to make his exit from the fallen prison) and Raya and Bruce (who'd also not left the city at that point).

A bullet slammed into a couple of gas cans which had been left next to a burning oil drum. The explosion lit up the world in front of them, sending the cops and thugs who were closet to the blast flying. Raya as well as Bruce felt the scorching heat radiating from the flames and saw the chaotic, dimly lit landscape which had been shrouded by fear and desperation which was again being ruled by fiery madness. Raya was forced to stand and watch as Robin was engulfed in a ball of flame and choking black smoke.

"No..." she whimpered. "_No no no no_..."

She lurched forward, intending to go in search of her missing bird, but Quinn appeared with an automatic assault rifle cradled in her arms from out of the smoke. Her garishly painted face was a mask of rage and grief, and her black cherry stained lips were twisted into a demonic smile.

"Time ta die, Bat-brains!" the madwoman shrieked.

The minutes stretched out like a snake on a sun warmed rock. Raya's heart beat a hard tattoo against her chest which was blocking out every ambient sound and thought but one: that Quinn intended to kill Batman.

Well, it was _not_ going to happen.

Raya reached for one of her toxin-laced bo-shurikens at the exact moment Quinn lifted the assault rifle. But before she could let the projectile fly, a figure swooped out of the billowing clouds of smoke, kicking Quinn in the back. Harley went crashing down onto the ground, dazed, but still conscious. The breath Raya had not realized she'd been holding came out in a _whoosh_ as she watched Tim secure Harley's wrists with zip ties he produced from his pocket before he came walking towards them.

"So, ya miss me?" he quipped.

Raya felt an insane need to throw herself into Tim's arms, to weep out her fear and grief and anger against his shoulder, and then beat the ever loving shit out of him for having scared her senseless for the second time in three hours. Bruce watched as she stepped towards his son. The hand she lifted was visibly trembling and her fingers were shaky as they skimmed over Tim's soot covered cheek. With a small cry she threw her arms around his neck and held tight. It was a loss of control he'd normally have scolded for. But his imp had been through a lot in the last few days. And she deserved some leniency.

"Take her home, Robin," he instructed his son before walking over to the woman just beginning to stir on the ground. "I'll handle things here."

"Yea, sure," Tim said, his breath rustling the hair at her temple. "Hold on, Fe."

Raya felt his arm slide around her waist, knew what he was about, and wound her arm tighter around his neck. Then they were weightless, flying through the air to a preset destination that only Tim knew about. They ended up atop the roof of an abandoned apartment building overlooking the sunken devastation of Amusement Mile. Soon as her boots hit solid ground, Raya let go of Tim and turned away in order to regain control of her tossed emotions. Tim'a eyebrows lifted at her sudden shift in mood.

"Raya?" he asked in a low tone.

When she didn't answer he moved a bit closer, staring at her until she finally turned to face him. What he saw swirling in that jeweled gaze; on her face had his heart stop. The mask (and not the half-mask she was wearing) she habitually wore had completely disintegrated. Her face at that moment was completely naked and raw. And so achingly vulnerable that it tore thin slash marks in his heart and soul. Every single thought and emotion she was feeling was openly visible to him at that moment. He could see the hurt and the pain, the guilt and the relief, soul-deep anger and shame, disgust and sadness, love and happiness. But what shook him to the absolute core of his being was the _fear_. It was so profound that it overrode everything else in her gaze.

"C'mon, Raya," he urged her. "ya gotta talk to me here. I can't help make it better if you don't talk to me."

He didn't know if she was going to answer, or if she'd even heard him. But then he heard her say, in a voice barely above a whisper, "I thought I'd lost you tonight." A tear rolled down her cheek unheeded. "And for a moment, one agonizing moment, I saw how empty my life would be without you in it. And it tore me apart, Tim."

He saw another tear fall and reached up to wipe it away with one thumb.

"You worried yourself for nothing," he told her quietly. "'Cause you were never in any danger of losing me."

"I'm always the most worried about you." A well of emotion rose in her throat, thickened her voice before she could swallow it back. "And I know it sounds…" she trailed off as the rampaging grief and shock and horror rose up to finally choke her. "Oh, God..."

Her knees buckled and Tim caught her in his arms a second before she went down. He was surprised when she wrapped her arms around him and burrowed her face against his the curve of his shoulder. "Just let it out, Raya," he whispered against the top of her hair. "Just let it all out."

Only then did she give into the need to vent and rage and weep. And Tim indulged her because he knew she'd been through a lot in the last three days and needed to let out the emotions churning so dangerously inside her. She settled down after a few minutes, but did not lift her head from his shoulder.

"Feeling better?" he asked while running a hand over the cap of her hair.

"A bit," she said. "But do you think that you could try and not make a habit of getting blown outta buildings?" she lifted her head to look at him. "Not ashamed ta say it plays hell on my rather _fragile_ nerves."

"Ya might wanna take that up with the super criminals who seem to love trying to blow me outta buildings."

Her lips twitched. "Oh, I'm so taking out ad space on a billboard and writing a letter to them about it."

"Oh yeah?" he grinned at her. "And what are you going to say?"

"Dear Gotham super criminals, could you stop trying to blow up Robin? I would really appreciate it. Love and kisses, the Fenix."

He laughed. He couldn't help himself. It was absolutely the most absurdest thing she could have said. But it was perfect.

"I can imagine the super criminals will not comply with your request," he teased.

She sighed dramatically. "Guess we'll just have to keep ya from going into any buildings that are explodable then, Red."

"You realize that would be every building in the world, right?"

"Yup, I do." She nodded and then grinned. "But I'm willing to sacrifice living in-doors if it's the only way to keep you from being blown up."

"And just where do you plan on living if I am supposed to avoid any explodable looking buildings?"

"We can always build teepees in the backyard at the Manor."

He snorted a laugh.

"I can't see Bruce being thrilled about us living in teepees in his backyard."

"With his paranoia issues?" She snorted. "He'll probably decide to build a teepee in the middle of our campground."

Tim chuckled and had to admit she had a point. Then he smiled down into her upturned face and said;

"How about we head back to the penthouse and I will make you my patented peppermint ice cream sundae?"

She smiled as she pointed out, "You hate peppermint ice cream."

"I know," he said on a long, suffering sigh. "But I'll tolerate it this one time. For you."

Raya leaned up to brush a kiss to his cheek. "Thank you, Tim. For everything."

"Hey," he said cheekily. "What are kid brothers for?"

"To annoy and badger and comfort and protect," she replied, hugging him close. "And love and worship their big sisters almost as much as their big sisters do them."

"C'mon," he said. "Let's go home."

"'Kay."


	20. December 19th

**A/N:** Hello m'dears! Hope that the week is being fabulous to you!

**S/N:** Just a note, the Brotherhood of the Shadow that I am mentioning here is not the same group of warriors as those from the Mortal Kombat series. I am only creating a whole new set of bad guys to come and torment our heroes.

* * *

_On the seventh day of Christmas my true love gave to me...  
Seven thugs in need of a beating  
Six crime fighting friends  
Five cluster headaches!  
Four broken ribs  
Three baby brothers  
Two golden rings  
And a perfect wedding ceremony!_

* * *

_December 19__th_.

He bent over and gave his sleeping princess a kiss, drawing her away from the murky realm of slumber and dreams. His princess smiled as she blinked open sleepy green eyes to see her prince smiling down at her.

"And ta think," she said in a voice like crushed velvet. "I was _just_ dreaming about a devastatingly handsome man in a half-mask waking me from my slumber with true love's kiss."

"So long as the devastatingly handsome man in a half-mask who you are dreaming is waking you from slumber with true love's kiss is me..." he replied with a grin.

"Darling," she drawled in a low, husky murmur. "You know that the only man I ever dream about kissing me is you."

"Good," he teased.

"Though there was this one time where I dreamed about a guy in a big black cape," she teased.

"Oh, c'mon, Rae," he said with a roll of his eyes. "As if we both don't know who the guy in the big black cape was."

"Zorro?"

He harrumphed. "I am _so_ much better than Zorro."

"Hrm," she said while sitting up in the bed. "Perhaps you'd better kiss me again so I can make that distinction for myself…"

"With pleasure," he replied a second before his lips met hers. He drew the kiss out until it brought a pang to his belly.

She blinked drowsy eyes. "Oh, I could feel that one deep down in my soul. I hope it means Christmas is gonna be a helluva lot better than the last few days have been."

He placed a kiss to her forehead. "It will be, Rae, I promise."

"So," she said a minute later. "Since I don't think ya wore your armor home with the sole intention of us doing some sorta smexy little fantasy role playing thing," her lips curved. "I'm inclined ta ask why ya are wearing it. Seems a bit weird here, bird boy." Her lips twisted into a wry grin. "Even for you."

His eyebrows forked and the blue of his eyes deepened with the shifting of his thoughts. "Well," he said. "As much as it pains me ta admit that it wasn't on my mind about us doing some _sorta smexy little fantasy role playing thing_," he leered at her before continuing. "I will say I am totally gonna keep the thought in mind for the future."

She snorted a laugh. "Then why are you wearing your mask and armor?"

"'Cause I didn't take the time to change after getting the _all-birdies-need-to-return-to-nest_ call."

She made a face. "Tim?" she hazarded.

"Alfred."

Her eyes went wide and her mouth gaped open. "_Alfred_ put the all-points bulletin out?" she squeaked.

"Yep, he did. What I wanna know though," he said. "Is why _you_ didn't put the call out."

"I was tryin' ta not be a huge worrywart."

"When your worry instincts kick in," he said on a long breath of air. "I tend to listen."

"Why do you listen when Bruce won't?" she asked testily.

He made a face. "He just hasn't learned yet about you having an almost obnoxious habit of reading a situation and a person correctly."

"Yea, well." She sighed and scooped her hair over her shoulders. "I ignored what my instincts were screaming at me because I thought it was more important for you to focus upon your case." She looked at him with eyes that shimmered with the remaining ebb of emotions still churning within her. "And I didn't want ya having ta rush home all because our erstwhile parent went and got himself into a right tight spot."

"Rae," he said gently. "If you'd called and told me that ya lost contact with Bruce and suspected it was because he'd been captured by Harley Quinn, I'd have come home immediately."

"Still." She insisted in a hard voice. "I felt I was worrying for nothing and shouldn't annoy you with my silliness."

"I'd still have come home, Rae."

"And that woulda left Jason alone to deal with the Brotherhood of the Shadow all by himself..." Raya began on a long breath.

"And Jason woulda handled the Brotherhood by himself the second he heard ya needed me home ta help with rescuing Bruce."

"...which I was trying ta avoid 'cause I know how important it is ta stop the Brotherhood..."

"Jas had Kor and Roy to help him..."

"Especially," she continued over him in a huff. "Since it's evident the Brotherhood is who is supplying the automatic weapons ta all the street gangs in Chicago."

"Yes," he said on a long sigh. "The Brotherhood is definitely a group we need to put a stop too. However," he spoke over the protest already starting to tumble from her lips. "Stopping the Brotherhood is not as important as making sure our own family is safe and sound. _Family_," he told her firmly. "Comes first."

"And _that_," she said with a snort. "Is why I called Tim home the moment I realized that my worries were not as unfounded as I'd let myself believe them to be." She skimmed her fingers over his jaw; along his whiskey-rough cheek. "As soon as I saw the situation was escalating into something a bit more catastrophic than I'd initially imagined, I put the _birdie_ bulletin out."

"I'm glad ya called Tim home." He turned his head and kissed her palm. "But ya shoulda called _me_. I'm your partner, Rae. In masks and out."

"Dick..." she looked away, sighed. "I never want you to feel like you have to run home all because I have found myself in a pickle. Or," she said on a heavy sigh. "Because I've found that I cannot handle things with tall, dark and moody."

He gripped her chin gently between his thumb and forefinger, turned her head until she was looking at him. "I have never felt obligated to run home whenever you've asked me too, Rae."

"Still." She insisted mulishly. "Ya shouldn't have ta run home. You've carved out your own niche; have your own life and cases ta worry about."

He traced his thumb over her bottom lip. "You _are_ my life."

Raya felt herself soften at those words and tipped her head against his shoulder. "Would you hold me for a while?"

He put his arm around her, stroked her hair when she rested her head on his shoulder. "Is that better?"

"Well," she said slowly, the beginning of a mischievous smile on her lips; in her eyes. "It would be perfect but for one teensy tiny little problem."

"Oh?" His brow lifted. "And what _teensy tiny little problem_ is that?"

Her eyes glowed. "Dick Grayson is wearing Nightwing's body armor and boots in our bed."

"And?" he drawled in a lazy tone. "Your point is what exactly?"

"My point is that if _Dick Grayson_ wants ta sleep with me, _Nightwing_ had better get his boots and armor off him. And he'd better do it very, very quickly."

The quick grin, the playful wink as Dick all but flew off the bed had Raya laughing despite the hellish nightmare of the last four days.


	21. December 20th

**A/N:** Hello m'dears! Hope that the week is being fabulous to you!

**S/N:** The comic this chapter is inspiring is called **Batman: Arkham City: End Game**. You can find it at for those interested to see what the Joker does as his final _swan song_.

* * *

_On the eighth day of Christmas my true love gave to me...  
Eight wing dings a singing  
Seven thugs in need of a beating  
Six crime fighting friends  
Five cluster headaches!  
Four broken ribs  
Three baby brothers  
Two golden rings  
And a perfect wedding ceremony_!

* * *

_December 20th_.

"He was just as dangerous dead as he was alive," Gordon said in a subdued tone. He slid his hands into the pocket of his tan trench coat while he stood watching as flames brighter than the sun slowly began to consume the body of the man who'd once been known by all of Gotham as the _Clown Prince of Crime_.

"Not anymore," he heard the dark figure next to him whisper. "Tonight his criminal reign ended." Gordon turned to watch as that large silhouette slithered across the floor, along the walls, over the ceiling. It never ceased to amaze him at how gracefully a man as large as Batman could move. Before he reached the door, Batman stopped and looked back at the man who, besides Alfred, he'd been friends the longest with. "No more pranks. No more jokes. No more laughs."

"You're blaming yourself for his death..." Gordon took off his glasses and stuck them in a small case he produced from a pocket inside his trench-coat. "Don't. You're not to blame for what happened to him."

"Who else is there to blame, Jim?"

"How about you blame him?" Gordon said a bit more sharply than he intended. He set a hesitant hand upon one stiff shoulder and said again, "Don't allow yourself to feel even a second's remorse for his death. You did your job. You stopped him. In the end, that's what we are supposed to do. It's terrible, and I know it doesn't help, but the truth is that we can't save everyone. And the Joker?" he looked again at the crematory that stood like a demonic guardian against the encroaching shadows. "He didn't want to be saved. He didn't want your help."

"I know."

"Then you also know he was cold-blooded killer. He was a mass murderer of epic proportions who escaped the hands of Justice more times than he should have. And his luck finally ran out." He ran a hand over the back of his head. "Can't say I'm gonna lose any more sleep over him."

"You sound like Raya," Batman replied in a dark whisper. "She says the Joker has finally been made to pay for the sins he perpetrated."

Jim Gordon could well imagine what his youngest child's thoughts were about the death of the Joker. Gordon himself could only think about what the sicko had put his daughter, Barbara through. It was the Joker who put her in a wheelchair, ending her career as Batgirl but thankfully not her life. But then he found himself thinking about the fifteen-year old kid, the second one to wear the mantle of Robin, who the clown viciously beat with a crowbar and left to die in a bomb-rigged warehouse in Ethiopia. Those were but two of the offenses the clown had committed against members of their respected families. There was hundreds, perhaps thousands of people the Joker had hurt over the course of his storied career.

"Our girl happens to be an excellent judge of character," he said finally.

Batman gave a slight nod of his cowled head. "Yes, that she is."

Gordon cocked a head to look at him. "I'm sure she's also told you how Batman is the only solution to Gotham's common problem."

"Her opinion tends to be rather biased, Jim."

"Yes." The veteran detective nodded. "It is. But that is because she holds you in a very high regard."

He stated it in a matter-of-fact voice. They never openly discussed whether or not he knew who the man beneath the cowl was. It was a game they'd been playing with each other for years. But Gordon did know. Just as he knew the man standing beside him was aware he knew and didn't care. In the end, the difference between knowing and not knowing was wrapped up in the importance of the fact. For Gordon, Batman was a necessity his city needed in order for it to survive the criminal onslaught. And if feigning ignorance was what it required in order to protect his city and her people, well so be it was Gordon's end thought.

"Raya believes in Batman. In what Batman stands for."

"And what exactly does Batman stand for?"

Jim let loose a heavy sigh. "He stands for the same thing he has always stood for: _hope_. You give hope to a city that would have none otherwise."

"At the expense of my family and friends," Bruce replied tersely. "You have all suffered for _my_ choices, for _my_ decisions."

Jim shook his head. "Our girl would be dead if not for you," he said softly. "Or have you forgotten about the New Year's Eve where Harold Rafferty and his men kidnapped Raya, thinking she was Barbara? They were going to murder an eight-year old kid just to get revenge upon _me_. But _you_ stopped them. _You_ brought our girl home safe that night."

"I haven't forgotten that New Year's, Jim." Batman turned and stared at Gordon with eyes that were burning, blistering blue. "Same as I've never forgotten the Christmas Eve where Matthew Berkeley attacked her in your home and left her for dead."

Dark memories swam between them. For a few moments neither one spoke. Finally, Gordon straightened and said, "Go on home. You've taken enough damage to mind, body and soul these last few days." He looked back at the slowly dying flames. "I'll finish things here."

"Are you sure, Jim?"

He gave a nod of his head. "Positive. Besides," he said on a sigh. "I'm sure our girl has got herself worked into a state over what happened at the Asylum and is right now heading to Blackgate in order to vent some of her anger upon Harley Quinn."

"Nightwing will stop her."

Gordon made a sound that was somewhere between a snort and a chuckle. _Can't believe I'm getting crime fighters for in-laws_. He turned his head, intending to say those very words, but he found he was all alone in the crematorium. "Huh," he said with a slight chuckle. "He's been doing that a lot more often as of late."


	22. December 21st

**A/N:** Hello m'dears! Hope that the week is being fabulous to you!

* * *

_On the ninth day of Christmas my true love gave to me...  
Nine gadgets needing fixing  
Eight wing dings a singing  
Seven thugs in need of a beating  
Six crime fighting friends  
Five cluster headaches!  
Four broken ribs  
Three baby brothers  
Two golden rings  
And a perfect wedding ceremony!_

* * *

_December 21__st_.

"Dude," the voice on the other end of the phone said in a voice like velvet steel. "I don't mind, seriously."

"Conner," Tim replied on one long sigh. "You really don't know how much I appreciate you doing this for me."

"Tim, would ya stop sweating it?"

"No, Con, ya really don't realize how much..."

"Hey," Conner interjected in a soft, but firm tone. "I know stuff's been pretty hectic in Gotham the last few days. If there's anything I can do to help, to take off some of the stress or make life a little bit easier, well, I'm only too happy to do it."

"Yeah, well," came his best friend's grumbled reply. "_Hectic_ isn't exactly the word I'd use to describe what the last few days have been like around here."

"And that's why I don't mind dropping off the rings to ya," the Kryptonian superhero cheerfully replied. "It's not like you asked me to drop off a four hundred and forty pound baby elephant after all. Besides, it gives me a chance to catch up with Dick."

Standing on the penthouse balcony, Tim glanced down towards the streets, watching the people who milled around. Many were loaded down with huge shopping bags from which colorfully wrapped packages all but spilled out. It was supposed to be the most wonderful time of the year, he thought silently. But every Christmas he'd spent with his adoptive family had had some type of calamity or situation come along to spoil the festive aspect of the season. Last year it was Scarecrow sending the head of Matthew Berkeley to Raya. This year it was Harley Quinn and the Joker trying to murder both him and Bruce. _Will this family ever have one Christmas without there being some criminal organization or psychopath trying to kill one, or all members_? He wondered, a frown drawing his dark brows over his nose.

"They can both use a distraction," he finally said to the man on the other end of his Bluetooth. "Especially Raya. She's wound tighter than a string right now and I'm afraid she'll snap before things are all said and done with."

Conner had a feeling the woman known around the globe as the Fenix wasn't the only ones in need of a distraction. His best friend was quite good at hiding whatever his true thoughts and feelings were. But Conner Kent knew what the telltale signs were that said Tim was close to drowning in his own emotional quicksand. The last few days had been as hard upon his buddy as they'd been on the rest of the members of the Batfamily. Conner knew that the events of both _Infinite Crisis_ and _Final Crisis_ continued to weigh heavy upon the mind of the current acting (and in Conner's mind, _true_) Robin. And those lingering memories, combined with his repressed emotions, were influencing Tim's less than jovial mood.

"Well," Conner paused as he flew over the Robert Kane Memorial Bridge and studied the slow moving cars which were below. "I imagine if Bruce would stop getting himself trapped in monuments to the Joker, or nearly blown apart by rigged buildings would greatly help her to finally unwind."

"Yeah, well," Tim drawled slowly. "You should have heard the argument they had after he got home last night. Even I didn't know she could use language quite _that_ strong."

"You're thinking that I didn't hear the shouting match between her and Bruce?" Conner asked as he made a beeline over the fallen mega prison, finally seeing the devastation of the city for himself. It shocked him to see the destruction; to feel the remaining imprint of the anarchical mayhem which had clearly dominated the streets. It was a fist to his metaphorical belly to know that for one entire evening that Batman had been inside this fortressed madness and surrounded by some of the very worst villains Gotham had to offer. How he managed to survive was a mystery to the young superhero. _But he didn't walk out of here without suffering some damage,_ he thought as he turned towards Wayne Tower.

"You could actually hear the argument between Raya and Bruce?"

Conner chuckled at the surprise in his friends tone. "Dude, Clark and I heard every word that yelled at each other loud and clear."

"And Clark didn't fly here to find out just what the hell was going on?" Tim raked a hand through his hair and turned to lean back against the balcony railing. "Or to intercede should things get out of hand?"

"He figured Bruce had earned this particular butt chewing by walking blindly into the Joker's trap."

Tim snorted a laugh. "That's what Dick said."

"Great minds think alike," Conner joked. "Speaking of Dick… are you absolutely positive he _doesn't_ suspect something is up at this point?"

"He suspects something," Tim admitted on a long breath. "But I don't think he's figured on it being him and Raya getting married on Christmas Eve."

"How are you going to keep him, or Raya for that matter, from figuring it out?"

He heard a sigh. "Well Harley Quinn and the Joker certainly helped Damian and I with that when they individually targeted Bruce for revenge."

Conner snorted before saying, "Not sure that that was what you and the kid intended as a distraction."

"No." Tim agreed softly. "Definitely wasn't."

Conner flew around a large skyscraper and was caught by a chilly upcurrent of arctic air that made him feel alive. Flying always offered him a sense of freedom, of being in control of his fate, and responsible for his own life. He was enjoying the peace and relative quiet of pre-Christmas Gotham. The city was a winter wonderland below him. The cobblestone streets were covered in a thin coating of snow, the windows of the homes and businesses he passed all frosted over with silvery threads of ice that glimmered in the mid-afternoon sunlight. Colorful lights were strung from rooftops, shimmered inside the store windows, were wrapped around light poles and strung from the spruce and pine trees in the park he flew over. He wasn't the only one enjoying this journey, either. His faithful sidekick, the Kryptonian superdog Krypto flew at his side, bright red tongue lolling out the side of his mouth as they streaked through the sky on their way towards their destination.

"Are the lovebirds home and gonna be suspicious 'bout me just dropping by for a random visit?" he asked.

"No. Damian convinced them to go and run a few errands for him so they won't even know you were here."

Conner's brow forked. "Errands?" he said slowly. "What sort of errands could a twelve-year old have?"

"Asked them to go and pick up some stuff for family movie night tomorrow."

"And they bought it?"

"What can I say?" Conner could hear the humor in his best friends tone. "Damian is really good at manipulating people in order to get what he wants."

"Yanno," Conner said lightly. "The kid's manipulative nature used to annoy the hell out of you."

"Believe me, Con, the kid is still a world class twerp. But," Tim said now on a sigh. "We've managed to turn a bit of a corner ever since he told me he wanted to give Dick and Raya the wedding they want, but won't plan for themselves."

"I still don't understand why they wouldn't plan this kind of wedding for themselves."

"Well," he heard Tim say. "Seeing them get married means a lot to both Bruce and Commissioner Gordon. And both men have said to them that they want their wedding to be a huge affair."

"I'm sure both would understand if they told them they didn't want a huge affair."

"They would." Tim agreed. "But I also think it's about maintaining appearances."

Conner's brow arched. "Appearances?" he quizzed in a bland. "Since when have Dick Grayson and Raya Kean been bothered with maintaining appearances?"

"Well, they aren't bothered with keeping up appearances as a whole," Tim said. "But Dick and Raya both are aware of how Gotham high society expects their wedding to be a huge, lavish affair. Especially since she's seen as a Berkeley and Dick, even though he never legally changed his name, is considered the son of Bruce Wayne."

"So they feel obligated to have a ceremony they don't want just to please people that don't really matter to them."

"Yup, just about."

Conner chuckled. "Sounds like them. Anyway, I'm about five minutes away from the Tower."

"Alright, I'll see ya in a few then."

"'Kay."


	23. December 22nd

**A/N:** Hello m'dears! Hope that the week is being fabulous to you!

* * *

_On the tenth day of Christmas my true love gave to me...  
Ten villains needing capturing  
Nine gadgets needing fixing  
Eight wing dings a singing  
Seven thugs in need of a beating  
Six crime fighting friends  
Five cluster headaches!  
Four broken ribs  
Three baby brothers  
Two golden rings  
And a perfect wedding ceremony!_

* * *

_December 22__nd_.

They were stretched out on the huge sectional in the living room late that evening, the two oldest of the three figures unwinding from an excruciatingly long day of last minute Christmas shopping. Raya shifted onto her left side and cradled her head on Dick's shoulder, her hand moving to rest in its position upon his chest. It was comfortable and familiar; the simple act of cuddling with the one you loved after twelve hours of being jostled around by ravenous crowds of holiday shoppers a necessary comfort.

Three people were absent from the penthouse at that moment: Tim, who was out with Conner, and Bruce, who was attending a Christmas gala in midtown Gotham. Damian had fallen asleep about midway through watching _Die Hard_, his head resting comfortably upon Dick's stomach. The twelve-year old was not the only one asleep at the moment though. Jason had allowed himself to be coaxed into spending the night and gone to sack out in Damian's room about an hour ago. Raya had joined them both in slumberland just a few ago minutes. Even Krypto, the kryptonian superdog was sacked out on his back on the floor, lightly snoring. Only he and Damian's cat Al (who was glaring at the wonderdog from his post next to the twinkling Christmas tree) were awake at the moment.

_These are the moments I live and fight for_, Dick Grayson thought while stifling a yawn. And what could be better really? he wondered. He had his girl, their baby bird, a superdog, a guard cat and his oldest brother to share a quiet family night at home with. Family was everything to him. His family was the prevalent thought on his mind every night he donned whichever suit of armor he needed to don. And wasn't that something, he thought now with a sleepy grin. That stepping into the role of Batman was no longer a chore he dreaded with every fiber of his being was a definite change from how he'd felt when he'd first been required to step into Bruce's role.

He'd struggled with accepting, with upholding, with embracing that legendary role. His friends and family had pushed him into taking up the mantle of the Dark Knight, much to his repeated protestations. "You are the prodigal son," they said. "You are Bruce's oldest and longest partner." None of them had understood why he couldn't do what they expected him too. They thought it was his self-doubts preventing him from stepping up and not only becoming Batman, but the head of the family as well. _No_, he thought now, none of them understood he was simply doing what Bruce had requested of him in his _Last Will and Testament_. And that was because none of them knew about Bruce's final words being a plea for him to find a balance between his life as Nightwing and his life as Dick Grayson. They didn't know that Bruce instructed him to find "love and happiness," to "get married" and "have a family of his own." They did not know that his final words to him were a rasped plea for him to "live, and not simply exist."

But the woman currently nuzzled against his side had known about all of those things. Raya had never forced him into usurping a role he was not comfortable with stepping into. The night he knocked on her apartment door had been the absolute lowest point in his life. Struggling with his grief, and his anger and frustrated with the people who kept hammering at him about taking up the mantle of Batman, he'd gone to the only person he could think of who'd offer him the comfort and solace he desperately needed: his best friend. They'd stayed up all that night, talking about what the options were, about what it was they thought Bruce would want him to do and what he would have expected. Together they'd come up with the most simplest of solutions: to remain a family. And together they'd pulled their fragmented household together, forged a more solidified crime fighting monarchy, and built a home at the same time.

_Home_.

It was such a loaded word he realized as he lightly skimmed his fingers over the back of Raya's head. Especially for a guy who'd been born as part of a traveling circus and not had a permanent home until he was nine. The only problem was he'd never felt the Manor was home. Not in the way it was home to Bruce, Raya, Tim and Damian even. Wayne Manor was merely the place where he grew up. The place where he'd trained to become a crime fighter. The place he resided when he was not away on business. And the place where he went when he was working a case and needing to use some of the more sophisticatedly advanced toys Bruce tended to have at his disposal.

He really did not mind living at either the Manor or here in the penthouse even, but neither served as a permanent living arrangement for him and Raya. Dick had been giving _home_ a lot of thought since he'd proposed to Raya in February. And he'd come to realize that when a man was ready to settle down, he really oughta find a place in which he and his wife could call _home_. However much Alfred and Bruce might enjoy having them live at the Manor, it just would not do for him and Raya to stay there long term. It was time, he said silently, fingers lightly brushing at the wayward curls which had fallen into her face as she slept, he started to think about buying them a house.

It didn't need to be a huge place; three or four bedrooms would be more than enough to fill their needs he realized. It would be good if there was a huge kitchen and a large pantry in which to house Raya's millions of cooking gadgets and utensils. She would need an office, too. And he would need some space of his own, he thought with a slight nod. It would definitely be good for them to have individual spaces they could go to whenever they started driving each other crazy. Some place near either the Manor or the penthouse would be ideal. Not that they couldn't get to either place within a few minutes if they wanted too, but he knew Raya would be happier living somewhere close to home. And it would be good if there was a subterranean system below the house in which they could...

_Grayson, you idiot! It's been staring you in the face this whole time. There's only one place in Gotham which has everything you're looking for. And _she_ already owns it!_ He went to reach for the phone in his pocket, but stopped when he realized that it was after two in the morning and that Lucius Fox was most likely asleep. "In the morning," he said as an explosion rocked across the screen. "I'll talk to Fox about the house in the morning."

"What are ya babbling about, buzzard brain?" Raya murmured groggily.

"Just figured out what I'm getting ya for Christmas is all," he said, turning his head to place a gentle kiss to her forehead.

"'Kay," was all she said as she drifted back to sleep. Dick repressed a smile. But there was a ball of excitement near to bursting within him at the prospect of finally having a home of his own. And wasn't it a helluva thing, he thought with another yawn, to figure out that _home_ wasn't about a city or a building, but family? And to that end he realized there was no home if that home was without his Rae. She was the sunlight that chased away his darkness, the glue that kept him together, the shield that protected him from those enemies he could not see. And as he slowly began to tumble into the murky realm of dreams, he realized how he was finally giving his princess the one thing she'd craved all her life all her life as well: a home of her own.

He fell asleep with a smile.


	24. December 23rd

**A/N:** Hello m'dears! Hope that the week is being fabulous to you!

* * *

_On the eleventh day of Christmas my true love gave to me...  
Eleven people needing rescuing  
Ten villains needing capturing  
Nine gadgets needing fixing  
Eight wing dings a singing  
Seven thugs in need of a beating  
Six crime fighting friends  
Five cluster headaches!  
Four broken ribs  
Three baby brothers  
Two golden rings  
And a perfect wedding ceremony!_

* * *

_December 23rd_.

The Berkeley Estate was in the north end of Gotham's Bristol District, an extravagant structure of white brick built along the same Gothic architectural style as Wayne Manor and which was definitely as old. The property was surrounded by a mammoth sized wrought-iron fence topped with razor-sharp spear points, beyond which stretched miles of neatly tended green lawn and majestic oak trees which dated back to this part of the country's early colonization.

Both Dick and Damian were quiet on the drive over to her family home. They each assumed, correctly, she thought with some amusement, she was in need of a few moments of quiet in order to ready herself for seeing her ancestral home. Dick never pressed her about returning to the Estate, knowing her thoughts and feelings were still just as conflicted as his own after her father's kidnapping and near killing of Damian in her bedroom a few years ago. But this morning he'd mentioned wanting to take a drive out to the Estate, said he wanted to make sure nobody had pirated the vacant property and turned it into a criminal hideaway. _I should ask Mr. Fox to hire me a property manager_, she thought as she turned down the long, winding road that led to the Estate. _Someone who can keep an eye on the property and ensure it is properly maintained_.

Of course, she should figure out what to do with the Estate at some point as well she realized as she pulled up to the huge wrought iron gates. Selling it seemed like the best option. But there was a part of her, a very dark part, which felt that she'd be selling out her ancestor's by selling the Estate. _Not all of the Berkeley history was stained by murder and madness_, she thought. There had been love and happiness in the house once upon a time. It was just her father who'd tainted it with his filth.

Raya pressed a button on the steering wheel of her car and watched as the gates slowly swung open. She felt an ambiguous sense of homecoming as she drove down that long winding driveway. The huge white mansion that sat at the end of the winding driveway with its row of elegant old oak trees and the lush green lawn that stretched for miles had been the opulent prison in which she'd spent the first thirteen and a half years of her life. But for others who'd come before her, this house was _home_. She felt the pull of those people, heard their whispers in the back of her mind as she parked the car and took a moment to gather her thoughts before stepping from the car.

The imposing mansion may have been built in the same architectural style as Wayne Manor, but the Manor it was not. Where the Manor was sharp angles and plenty of glass, style, and sophistication; the Estate was a ghostly entity full of dark secrets, silvery cobwebs and soft whispers. Somehow it managed to be even more dark and oppressive than the Manor, which was something she paused to consider now as she turned to stare at her childhood home. Bruce kept the Manor like one huge memorial to those who he'd lost and the weight of his rage and his grief kept shadows playing in every corner. But there was a heart to Wayne Manor, one which she attributed to the larger than life presences of the men who called the Manor _home_. It was family who made a house a home. Family, she realized now, which the Berkeley Estate had been without even before her birth sent her father the rest of the way over insanity's cliff.

Dick saw the play of emotions that swept across that alabaster face; through those oh so expressive eyes and didn't have to wonder at the cause or direction of her thoughts. She'd avoided her former home because of the tidal wave of guilt and anger that awaited her around every corner, at every bend, in every room. But he also knew beneath those tangible memories and emotions was a desire to honor her ancestors by erasing the dark stain covering the house.

"Hey," he said gently. "If you don't wanna do this, we can leave."

She shifted her attention away from the balcony that circled the second floor of the property and the whimsical thought of how she'd wrap the railing in scarlet colored garland and white lights to look over at him. "No," she replied, setting a hand upon Damian's shoulder. "I'm okay."

"Ya sure, Rae?"

She nodded; smiled. "Not every memory I have in this house is a bad one, Dick. I do have _some_ good memories from my childhood. Just most of them don't involve either my mother or my father."

"But you never saw the house as home."

"No, I never saw the house as home," she said quietly. "And the reason for that, as I have so recently come to find, is because it lacked a family to make it home."

"Oh," he said as he drew her back against his body and wrapped his arms about her waist. It was a simple and warm gesture, full of love and affection. "I'm so glad you said that."

She angled her head back to look at him, one elegant brow lifted. "Oh? And why's that?"

"Well," he said slowly. "I wanted to discuss with you the possibility of making the Estate _our_ home."

"What?" Surprise flickered in the depths of her fathomless eyes, had her mouth dropping open. "You want to live..._here_?" she questioned dumbly. She saw him nod and was cast out even further on the sea of confusion. "But...why?"

"Symbolism," he replied simply.

"Symbolism?" she repeated the word as if he'd said it in a foreign tongue. Then she shook her head. "Dick, I really am not getting what you're saying here."

"You've never sold the estate because you felt it unfair to sell a home which has been in your family as long as Wayne Manor has been in Bruce's. And you've mentioned before how the Berkeley legacy is not one of murder and insanity, that that deviation came about with your father."

"Yes," she said slowly. "What's your point here, bird boy?"

"My point is we've been discussing where we'd live once we get married. And we've gone to look at a few places to try and get an idea of what we want. But none of those places inspired us to call them home." He leaned down to brush a kiss to her cheek. "This house though? It only needs one thing to make it a home once again: a family."

_A family to make it a home once again_, she thought, casting her gaze back to the front porch. She pictured the house as it could be-full of laughter and warmth and happiness. She'd get rid of all that cold, cold crystal and silver and replace it with things that inspired life, family and serenity. They could convert the wing where her former bedroom was into a training room and small gym, which she knew would make Dick happy. And the front foyer, the place where her darkest memory had taken place, they could turn into something which represented their blended family. She lifted misty eyes to his.

"You're right, it _is_ symbolic." She cupped the back of his neck and drew his head down. "And absolutely perfect," she murmured a second before her lips met his.

"Oh, yuck," they heard Damian grouse. "Can't you two wait until you're alone to do the kissing thing?"

"Nope," Dick said cheerily before kissing Raya again.

"Oh, geez," he grumped before stomping up the front walk to the front door. "I swear...how you two ever get anything accomplished with all the time you spend kissing is beyond me."

The two adults just snickered before they slowly trailed after the still grumbling boy.


	25. December 24th

**A/N:** Happy Yuletide Eve!

* * *

_On the twelfth day of Christmas my true love gave to me...  
Twelve bombs exploding  
Eleven people needing rescuing  
Ten villains needing capturing  
Nine gadgets needing fixing  
Eight wing dings a singing  
Seven thugs in need of a beating  
Six crime fighting friends  
Five cluster headaches!  
Four broken ribs  
Three baby brothers  
Two golden rings  
And a perfect wedding ceremony!_

* * *

_December 24__th__.  
_  
The next morning, Dick was shaken awake-literally!- by his impulsive (and rather obnoxious in Dick's mind) kid brother.

"_Get_ up!"

Somewhat playfully, he reached for the little annoyance. "Too early to get up," he said drowsily. "Let's go back to sleep instead."

"Grayson," Damian huffed. "If you don't get out of that bed this instant, I swear I will beat you within an inch of your life!"

"Dami, have a heart," Dick whined. "I was on Bat patrol until two!"

"So!? Get up! _Now_!" And to illustrate his demand, the twelve-year old ripped the warm covers off, allowing in a blast of cold air. Dick groaned with great feeling and cracked open his eyelids. He blinked into deep gloom.

"_By all that is holy_! It's still pitch dark out, Damian! What in the hell is the matter with you?"

"Nothing's the matter with me. Now get up! _Please_? It's important!"

Dick groaned again, with great feeling-and got up. Damian bullied and half-shoved, half-pulled him to the door and out into the hall. Dick grinned as he dug in his heels and had to swallow back a chuckle at the exasperated expression that flickered across Damian's face.

"Grayson, if you screw things up with your clownish antics," the twelve-year old muttered threateningly. "I swear I will hurt you."

"You'll deal with Raya if you cause me bodily injury in any way," he retorted cheerily. "She tends to get really pissy whenever I get hurt."

Damian just grumbled what sounded like a litany of curses beneath his breath. He clutched the sleeve of his t-shirt, towed Dick into the kitchen, past the gurgling coffee maker (which made Dick whimper) and out into the living room. He finally stopped and pointed to the couch where Dick saw Raya was seated, completely dressed and calmly sipping from a coffee mug.

"Sit," Damian commanded.

Raya lowered the mug and fixed the boy with a stern look. "Watch that supercilious tone," she said.

Damian heaved a disgruntled sigh. "Sit, _please_."

Dick looked first at Raya and then over at Tim and Conner, whom were slouched in overstuffed armchairs by the sliding glass door. Krypto was sitting and watching Al, whom he noticed had taken up residence _in_ the Christmas tree. He shook his head. _Crazy cat_.

"Morning sleepyhead," Raya said sweetly, taking another sip of that heavenly smelling brew.

"Exactly what's going on here?" he asked as he sat beside her.

"Remember our suspicions about our baby bird being up to something?" she said while handing him her mug.

"Yes," he said slowly as he took the mug and drank deep to clear the sleep fog from his mind and voice. "What about them?"

"Well, we shoulda investigated those suspicions a bit better than we did."

He lifted a brow. "Oh, yea? And why's that?"

"Because," she said dryly. "Not only was our baby bird hard at work planning and plotting our wedding... he hired himself helpers to aide him with his plan."

He jerked a thumb at the pair of friends by the door. "Lemme guess...those would be two of his helpers?"

"Along with Alfred." She confirmed with a nod. Dick goggled at her for a moment, but then he chuckled. He really wasn't surprised he realized. He, better than anybody, knew that when Damian Wayne set his mind upon doing something, there was no stopping him. And the boy did have a knack for getting people to follow his command.

"So for the last few weeks, our baby bird, Alfred, the bird we didn't think would help the baby bird and a kryptonian superhero have been conspiring to throw us a wedding. Am I right?"

"Yup you are." She took her mug back and sipped from it, smiling at him over the rim. "Ceremony is this morning in fact."

Both brows shot up at that. He flipped around to stare-glare would be more like it- at Tim, saw the sheepish look that was upon his face. Then he turned towards Conner, who merely shrugged his shoulders.

"You two were gonna be getting married one way or another..." he said with a grin. "The kid's just taken the headaches and hassles out of things by putting the ceremony together for you."

"And you two were the ones who said you wanted to get married on Christmas Eve," Damian pointed out.

"Yes," Dick said slowly. "But, Dami..."

"...and you both admitted you wanted to get married out in that old gazebo in the back gardens with only the most important members of your friends and family there to watch," Damian said right over Dick.

"Well, yes," Dick replied on a long sigh. "We did say that. But..."

"And it was you," Damian continued without even pausing to take a breath. "Who said the only way you would get the wedding you really want is if someone decided to throw you that nice and simple and small ceremony. Well," he growled. "_That's_ what we're giving you: a nice and simple and small wedding ceremony in the old gazebo with only your closest friends and family in attendance."

Dick sat in stupefied silence for a number of moments. Finally, he turned to look at Raya, said, "Why aren't you more upset about this?"

"Well," she said with a slight shrug. "It _is_ what we said we wanted, Dick."

"That may be," he replied in a sharp tone. "But it's still sneaky and underhanded."

"So was tricking me into going out ta my family estate under the guise of making sure no criminal had propagated the property for their evil use."

"_That_ was different, Rae."

"Ya didn't tell me how you'd decided the estate was the perfect place for us ta call home until after we got out to check on the property," she pointed out with a smile. "So technically, bird boy?" That smile stretched wider. "It's not so different from what our bunch has done here."

Dick raked his fingers through his hair. Silently he pondered the situation. Then those eyes met hers; there was clear consideration in those liquid depths, but beyond that, his face told her nothing. Then the very ends of his lips twitched; lifted. "So, we're getting married today."

"Seems like it," she said with a nod. "Alfred's already at the Manor and handling the last minute details, in fact."

"And has anybody told..." he jerked a thumb in the direction of the master bedroom. "Bruce about this?"

"I'll tell Father," Damian said with only a faint grimace shadowing his face. "Once he awakens."

"You'll tell me what once I awaken?" Bruce asked as he padded into the room. Seven pairs of eyes all shifted to look at the Wayne patriarch. Quite a few he noticed which shone with guilt. "Well?" he asked as he folded his arms across his broad chest. "What is it I need to be told?"

"Dick and I are getting married," Raya said cheerfully. "This morning in fact."

Even though his eyes were blurry still with sleep, he turned them upon the woman seated upon the couch. "Couldn't you have at least waited until I had a cup of coffee before springing something like that on me, imp?" he rumbled.

"I didn't want you burning yourself before the wedding." Her lips twitched. "Just wouldn't do for you to be injured prior to walking me down the aisle."

Bruce's face registered first his shock and then his pleasure. "What about Jim?" he asked. "He's your uncle, Raya."

"Yes he is," she said while pushing to her feet. "But way I see it? I was blessed with _two_ father figures. And I have always treated you both as my father's because that is what you are to me: my father's. And that is why I want you _both_ to walk me down the aisle." She stopped directly in front of him, lifted her head to look at him before asking; "Will you escort me down the aisle, Bruce?"

His face softened and he cupped her cheek in the palm of his hand. "It would be my honor, imp."

* * *

They were married at ten that morning with only their closest friends and family members there to watch. Alfred had turned the back gardens of Wayne Manor into a place of fantasy and magic. The arches and arbors were wrapped in holly and pine and sprigs of mistletoe. A stone path meandered through a sea of shrubbery and flowers there were lined with strands of softly tinkling bells. Some of the blooms were tender with winter, some already reigned. It wasn't just the blooms, but the sea of green playing hide-and-go-seek with Jack Frost. There was so much texture and color that each spill or shimmer of pink or white, red or lavender only added more wonder to the splendor. The way the massive garden with the ground covered in a layer of fresh snow gleamed in the early morning sunlight, the way hedges and branches were coated in glittering frost that sparkled like diamonds, the way icicles sparkled from the railing of the gazebo that was at the end of the stone path turned the garden into a winter wonderland. It was a wonderful paradise, just the setting for romance to flourish and hearts in love to become one.

Raya stood next Dick and listened as he vowed to love, honor and protect her. He'd been doing all three for the last fifteen years, she thought as she made her responding vows-to love, honor and make _him_ obey-which caused laughter from the crowd. It was a vow she made with an open heart. Dick growled and pulled her into his arms, kissing her-before the man who was presiding over the ceremony announced he could kiss the bride. They heard Damian groaning and muttering something about Dick not "being able to control himself," but they were too happy and far too engrossed in each other to pay him any mind.

Once he lifted his head and they'd turned to walk up the stone path to the house, the sun which had glowed so brightly throughout the ceremony slowly began to be swallowed by clouds hailing the arrival of more snow. Nothing could dispel the magical spell they were under. Only after they signed the license (with Wally and Barbara serving as their witnesses), and strolled into the formal dining room for their wedding breakfast, did the fact they were now married start to sink in.

Pausing in the doorway, Dick glanced down at the woman standing beside him. His _wife_. Even unuttered, the words sent a streak of heated sensation through him, powerful enough to rock him to the core of his being. "Any regrets, Rae?"

She looked up at him; studied him with jeweled eyes he knew could see all the way through to his soul. Then those eyes shimmered with a familiar sparkle of impish delight. "Just one," she said.

One black brow lifted. "Oh? And what's that?"

"My husband has yet to kiss me under the mistletoe."

He obliged her happily.


	26. December 25th part deux

**A/N:** Happy Yuletide everyone! I hope that the holiday brings you and yours nothing but good tidings, peace and happiness :)

* * *

_'_Welcome, Christmas, bring your cheer.  
Cheer to all Whos far and near.  
Christmas Day is in our grasp  
So long as we have hands to clasp.  
Christmas Day will always be  
Just as long as we have we.  
Welcome, Christmas, while we stand  
Heart to heart, and hand in hand.'

-_How the Grinch Stole Christmas_ by Dr. Seuss

* * *

_December 25__t_h.

_Yup_, she thought. _I really should have known my baby bird was up to no good the second he and Tim actually started to get along_. Just the sight of the two of them with their heads bent together in one corner of the penthouse (she realized now her Robin elves were busily crafting their Christmas plot) had had bells ringing in her head. But she'd ignored those bells, willfully dismissed all the marks shining on the walls and ignored the clues all but slapping her in the face. Raya wondered if she'd have stopped them had she known about what it was her little elves were planning. Her lips curved when the answer came back: _absolutely not_.

Only while she was standing upon that gargoyle did she admit how she'd turned into a craven little coward whenever she and Dick spoke about getting married. She could have pushed her desire to go ahead and get married she thought with a sigh. She could have told Dick she really wanted to get married on Christmas Eve (and not on a Christmas Eve sometime in the future as she'd intimated originally). But she'd said nothing, kept her Christmas wish to herself. And the reason for that, she knew, was shrouded in the belief about the members of her family never having a Merry Christmas. _Santa Claus delivering toys and goodies to all good little boys and girls might be a holiday myth_, she thought while typing commands into her handheld tablet. _But we can always count on Gotham's criminals as spoiling our holiday with their Grinch-like behavior_.

There was always one of their criminal _friends_ to spoil the holiday. In Gotham, it was much more likely you'd be shot (or nearly blown up in a rigged explosion) than have a holly jolly Christmas. Oh, and forget having a happily ever after if you were a crime fighter she thought with a wry grin twisting her lips. Such a thing was not supposed to exist in their line of work. Explaining that to a pugnacious, stubborn and supremely opinionated twelve-year old was like pulling nails from concrete though. Damian had heard what she and Dick said to each other and with his partners in crime (which she now knew included Alfred as the orchestra leader and Conner as the herald) decided to give them exactly what they wanted: a nice and simple and small wedding ceremony on Christmas Eve. It was a present that would last for the rest of their lives. But they'd done so much more than give her and Dick their happily ever after, she realized now, sparkling eyes drifting out over the silent city. They'd also provided the members of their family and friends with that ever elusive Merry Christmas.

_I'm going to be baking Damian peanut butter cookies until I'm a hundred_, she thought with a soft chuckle. But peanut butter cookies were a small price for finally being Mrs. Richard Grayson (no hyphenation of _her_ name, oh no). Joy bubbled from deep inside and she had to struggle with not only keeping it contained, but remaining focused upon why she was standing on a rooftop next to the old GCPD building. She flipped up the screen on her mini-computer to check the progress of the program she was uploading. Eighty-seven percent complete.

Raya glanced over at the monstrous building sitting silent as a tomb in front of her. Under ordinary circumstances she would not be planting a program intended to give would be hacker's access to the mainframe of the GCPD. But when those hackers were rumored to be working for Jonathan Crane, ordinary circumstances went out the window. These would-be hackers were in for a nasty surprise. While they were busy hacking into the GCPD's files, Barbara would be busily hacking theirs to retrieve whatever information she could about their dealings with the Scarecrow.

"How much longer until the upload is complete?" a familiar voice growled on the right of her.

Raya canted her head in order to look at the figure with bat-like ears rising from the ebony cowl that was crouched atop the gargoyle that was next to the one upon which she was perched. One dark brow lifted as she took in the familiar matte-black body armor made of reinforced Kevlar bi-weave fabric and fire resistant Nomex that was encasing his muscular frame. Both eyebrows forked as her gaze swept over the black winged emblem emblazoned upon the broad chest plate. Without seeing them she knew those arm gauntlets with the scalloped metal fins and gloves were made from the same hard, flexible material his predecessors were made of. And just like his predecessor, there was a gold utility belt with a bat-shaped belt buckle and mechanical pouches containing dozens of devices crafted by some of the greatest scientific and technological experts (many of whom were employed at Wayne Enterprises) slung around his trim waist. His black cape fluttered behind him like a pair of gossamer fingers stretching upwards to grasp at the silvery moon peeking out from behind snow laden clouds. Bruce Wayne this man clearly was not, oh no. Her lips twitched with amusement.

"So, let you out of the cave as Batman did he?" She asked with an impish smile. "That's interesting."

"Well, there were dozens of guests requiring his particular attention," he responded with a quick grin.

She scoffed. "Oh, please. Bruce has told people to get out of his house dozens of times before."

Dick Grayson snorted a laugh and scuttled along the ledge towards her. "How much longer on the upload?" he asked her again.

"Ten seconds," she said. "And five... four... three… two..." an electronic chirp captured her attention and she glanced down at the computer, saw the message on its screen.

**UPLOAD COMPLETE**

Her green eyes winked at him from behind the black half-mask when she said, "It's done. Barbara will be able to start hacking their systems in just a few seconds."

Dick gave a nod of his head and watched as she slipped the mini-computer into one of the hidden compartments of her suit. He was still getting used to seeing her in her newly designed black body suit. Her arm gauntlets and gloves were made of the same material as his, but she'd modified the fingertips of the glove on her left hand to include a neurotoxic mist she could deploy in tight situations. She also wore a black utility belt slung low on her shapely hips now, the mechanical pouches filled with the gadgets and gizmos she tended to use most frequently. But it was the cape, stylized to include elements of both his cape and Bruce's that he was having to adjust to the most. She'd always worn a suit streamlined to be similar to his one as Nightwing. They shared an acrobatic type style when it came to moving around a city, and a tight fitting suit allowed them a greater ability to move without being hindered. But as life changes, so do styles. And she was constantly experimenting, always working upon new means and methods of dealing with the predators they encountered.

"Ya got a big stupid grin on your face right now, bat brains," he heard her say. He angled his head to look at her.

"I'm grinning because I became a married man less than fourteen hours ago."

She harrumphed. "And?"

"And rather than celebrate my wedding night as every sane man would say I should be," he grinned at her groan. "I let my bride convince me to don the cape and cowl and go out crime fighting with her."

"Bruce let you put on the cape and cowl," she said primly. "I was expecting Nightwing to show up personally."

"_Nightwing_ couldn't come out to play with you tonight," he teased. "But we've gotten away from the point."

"Which is?"

"That this is our wedding night, and Christmas morning at that, and we're out here chasing down bad guys."

She snorted. "You were the one who pointed out how the Bat signal was up, my darling."

"I recall I was trying to steer you towards the elevator when Commissioner Gordon…"

"Uncle Jim," she interjected with a smile. "He told you to call him Uncle Jim, remember?"

"Anyway," he said on a long, drawn out sigh. "I was steering you towards the elevator when _Uncle_ Jim said something serious must be up or Detective Bullock wouldn't have turned on the Bat signal."

She nodded. "And since the symbol was up..." she began but a gloved hand covered her mouth.

"Tim said he'd come check out what was up," he said. "And there were a slew of superheroes at the Manor who could have easily helped with investigating and handling the situation."

She grinned. "Admit it, Grayson. When I said _let's go play_, your adrenaline started pumping."

"Rae," he said dryly. "My adrenaline was not pumping in anticipation of playing with any of our villainous playmates."

"C'mon," she said teasingly. "Wouldn't be Christmas if we didn't have some bad guys we needed ta beat up."

Dick dropped a kiss to his wife's lips before saying, "We're doing no crime fighting when we get to Hawaii. Got it?" He saw her nod, but noticed a smile hovered upon her lips. "I mean it, Rae. Fourteen days of you, me and no crime fighting."

"Alright."

"Hey, uh, if you guys are finished over there at the GCPD building," Tim's voice crackled in their comms. "I could use a hand with evicting Two-Face from the Second Bank of Gotham."

"Is Two-Face holding a Christmas court session in one of the bank vaults, Tim?" Raya asked cheerfully.

"I think he's planning on court being in session very, very soon, yes."

"What do you mean that he's planning on court being in session very, very soon?" Dick questioned.

Tim released a long, heavy breath. Raya knew how concerned he was by how heavy his sigh was. "Well, he's telling the cops outside the bank that he has a group of hostages he will pass judgment on if they don't leave the area in the next twenty minutes."

Oh, well that definitely was not a good sign. She glanced over at Dick.

"We can be there in fifteen minutes just by gliding," she said. "Ten if the winds hold steady at ten miles per hour out of the north-northeast direction."

She was calculating the same times he was and taking into consideration all the potential factors that could influence travel time. _Not a surprise_, he thought warmly. _We've always been in sync_.

"We'll be there as soon as we can," he said to Tim. "Try and see if you can locate a way in and find out just how many hostages Two-Face has in the bank with him."

"I've already found a way inside," came his reply. "I'll let you know what I find out once I can get close enough to where Two-Face is holding the hostages."

"Just be careful, Tim," Raya said a moment before the comm went silent. She glanced over at Dick, saw he was unfurling his cape in preparation of taking flight.

"So how ya wanna do this?" he asked, his lips twitching.

"Divide and conquer," she said with a slow grin. "Or drop in and say hello?"

"Oh, baby," he said playfully. "We both know you like the direct approach best."

"Just remember what Tim said about Dent having hostages that he was holding in the bank vault." She told him. "We don't wanna drop in and say hello in such a way that it forces Dent to do something drastic."

"Okay," he said in a mock serious tone. "So we drop in and say hello, but we'll do it _quietly_."

"Sounds like a plan to me." Raya perched on the balls of her feet and gave him a blinding smile. "Oh, by the way," she chirped in a sing song voice. "I decided that the first one who gets to the bank gets a full body massage from the loser when we get home."

She back somersaulted off the gargoyle before Dick could even form a suitable reply. He could do nothing but watch as she rocketed towards the ground at near lightning speed, her cape kept tight against her body. At last second she unfurled the cape, smoothly shifting into a glide. Only then did he sigh and shake his head.

"Witchy wife," he muttered. "She didn't even kiss me goodbye."


End file.
